


How It Should Have Gone

by hawksonfire



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst in Chap 3 & 4, Artist Steve Rogers, Awesome Phil Coulson, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Clint Barton, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Clint Barton Needs Therapy, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, Dorito Steve Rogers, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mostly Fluff, Multi, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Nick Fury is Manipulative, Nightmares, POV Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Avengers (2012), SHIELD Took Bad Care of Steve When He Woke Up, Steve Goes to Therapy, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has Issues, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Makes Some Friends, Steve Rogers Needs Therapy, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Says Fuck, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Steve Rogers has nightmares, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Technically Avengers (2012) Compliant, They all need therapy, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, Tony is not an asshole here, University Student Steve Rogers, and they were ROOMMATES, except when he has to be, graphic description of violence, smut in chap 3, steve rogers has depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-04 18:53:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 40,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18349667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/pseuds/hawksonfire
Summary: When Steve Rogers wakes up from a nap he wasn't supposed to wake up from, he's not expecting much.What do you get when you add a deaf archer, a redhead assassin, five university students at varying places on the gender spectrum, aliens, the son of your dead friend, and the fact that almost everyone else you knew is dead?A very confused Steve Rogers. Add in a splash of romantic feelings, a ton of therapy, and Nick Fury's shitty manipulation, and well...Steve wants to go back to sleep.





	1. Chapter One: Awake

**Author's Note:**

> OH MY GOD ITS HERE!!!! Y'all, I have been writing this thing for months, and it's been rattling around in my brain for months before that. I'm super excited to post it, so... Please be kind.
> 
> Thanks to my AMAZING beta, @tomorraw on Tumblr (follow her folks, she's fuckin' great), for sticking with me through, like, a lot of shit. We would not be here without her, so thanks so much! I owe you a cookie or something.
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: Chapter One includes a frank discussion about Steve's suicidal tendencies with his therapist, as well as offhand thoughts and mentions on how he didn't want to wake up from the ice. If you want to avoid that, stop reading at "Dr. Jones blinks." and then start up again at "... but I think I could be content."

**Chapter One - Awake**

Steve was lost. Hopelessly, irrecoverably lost. He had no idea what the bald man - Agent Jones, he said his name was? - was talking about on that stupid white screen that made his eyes hurt when he looked at it. And the fact that he hadn’t had a drink of water since he woke up wasn’t helping his encroaching headache. 

“Captain Rogers?” Steve barely suppressed a flinch. “Are you following all this?” Agent Jones asks.

No, Agent Jones. Steve is not following. Steve is hopelessly lost and all he wants is to go back to a nice dark room and go to sleep and he was _never supposed to wake up dammit_. “Yes, sir. Please, continue.”

Agent Jones continues droning on about something that happened in 1952, and Steve is taking notes and listening and nodding at all the right intervals but all of this information is going in one ear and out the other. Steve’s pretty sure that they’re giving him only the basics, having heard several agents on his way here mutter about ‘not wanting to offend his delicate sensibilities’ and ‘only covering the relevant stuff’.

Steve scoffs. Agent Jones pauses, then continues when Steve blinks at him innocently. Not wanting to offend his delicate sensibilities, Steve’s all-American ass. They’re spoon-feeding him the basics of what happened while he was ‘inactive’, as Agent Jones put it before he started. Steve would bet the shield that they’re skipping over all the juicy bits.

A spike of pain behind his right eye makes him wince, catching the eye of Agent Jones. “Everything alright, Captain Rogers?” Steve nods sharply. They’ve made it all the way to 1975 now, and if Steve didn’t suspect that they were skipping over some history before, he would now. Not a snowball’s chance in hell they made it through twenty-three years of world history in - his eyes flick to the clock - eighteen minutes.

“I think that’s enough for today, Captain Rogers. We’ll resume tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred hours. Someone will be by shortly to escort you to your room.” Agent Jones shuffles some papers, turns off that infernal screen and leaves the room without another word.

Externally, Steve’s posture and face don’t change. Internally, he is screaming himself hoarse at the thought of going back to that bare little room with no windows or sharp objects or mirrors. The door opens behind him and he gathers up his things - two pencils and a half-filled sheet of paper.

“Right this way,” An unassuming man in a suit says, gesturing to the hallway. Steve strides out of the room and hangs back, waiting for the man to start leading him places. “Phil Coulson.” The man holds out his hand and Steve shakes automatically. When he doesn’t respond, Coulson raises his eyebrow. “This is the part where you introduce yourself.”

It’s so odd to Steve that this man might not know who he is - not out of any sense of puffed-up entitlement, mind you, just that the whole building stares at him as he walks through the hallways - that a snort makes its way through his lips, causing Coulson’s second eyebrow to raise. “Steve Rogers.” Steve shakes his hand, finding himself grateful to the man for some sense of normalcy.

“I pity you, Steve,” Coulson sighs. Steve tenses. “Anyone who has to sit through Jones’ lecture on modern history and can’t get a drink afterwards should be pitied.” Another snort escapes Steve. Another spike of pain - this time behind his left eye - makes him flinch and he drops his pencil. Coulson’s hand flies out and catches it quickly, nearly as quickly as Steve could’ve if he hadn’t had his hands full.

“I didn’t even sit through Jones’ lecture and I need a drink. Mind a detour?” Coulson asks, already veering towards a non-descript door in some out of the way hallway. Steve shakes his head and follows Coulson through the door into what looks like a small kitchen. Coulson heads straight towards the fridge and pulls out two water bottles, tossing one to Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve says, gulping down the water. Coulson raises an eyebrow and Steve lifts a shoulder.

“So, in an effort to make you more comfortable in this time, my bosses have deemed it a good idea to stick you in a room with possibly SHIELD’s most boring agent, who has a tendency to drone on - and not about anything interesting - give you a severely sanitized version of world history since 1945, and they’ve failed to properly hydrate and feed you?” Coulson asks incredulously. Steve shrugs again. “And I thought it was a good idea to work for these people.” Coulson sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m just happy to be here, sir,” Steve offers, the words tasting like ash on his tongue.

Coulson gives him a long look. Then he nods abruptly like he’s made a decision. “Alright.” He screws the lid back onto his bottle and stands up straight. “I’ve got a question for you, Steve.” Steve looks at him. “If you had the choice between going back to Jones’ lecture tomorrow and going to an actual classroom with actual students and learning about what actually happened in the last 66 years, which would you choose?”

Steve doesn’t even have to think about it. “Classroom.” After a brief pause, he adds, “Sir.”

Coulson nods decisively. “Give me 24 hours and it’ll be done. Feel free to wander about the building, Steve.” He winks at Steve and leaves the kitchen, leaving Steve alone for what feels like the first time in days.

Steve stands still for a few moments, clutching his water bottle and pencils numbly. Then his brain catches up with his situation and he calmly folds his papers, sticks his pencils in his bag, drinks the rest of his water and leaves the kitchen. He keeps his face blank as he strides purposefully through the hallways, smirking internally as he sees people dive out of his way. Steve’s not a cruel person by nature, really, but with the way these people have been gawking and muttering about him behind his back, they deserve a little turnabout. Only fair, really.

Steve wanders through the building for an hour, then gets fed up and leaves. He goes to a library that used to be smaller and sits by himself in a little study room. He pulls a file out of his bag and opens it, wincing at the papers inside.

**FILE OF:** _TIMOTHY ‘DUM-DUM’ DUGAN_ **STATUS:** _DECEASED_

**FILE OF:** _JIM MORITA_ **STATUS:** _DECEASED_

**FILE OF:** _GABE JONES_ **STATUS:** _DECEASED_

**FILE OF:** _JACQUES DERNIER_ **STATUS:** _DECEASED_

**FILE OF:** _JAMES MONTGOMERY FALSWORTH_ **STATUS:** _DECEASED_

**FILE OF:** _SAMUEL SAWYER_ **STATUS:** _DECEASED_

**FILE OF:** _PERCIVAL PINKERTON_ **STATUS:** _DECEASED_

**FILE OF:** _JONATHAN JUNIPER_ **STATUS:** _DECEASED_

**FILE OF:** _MARGARET ‘PEGGY’ CARTER_ **STATUS:** _RETIRED_ **CURRENT ADDRESS:** _57-J MERRYWEATHER, WINCHESTER, UK_

**FILE OF:** _HOWARD STARK_ **STATUS:** _DECEASED_ **RELATIVES:** _ANTHONY STARK_

He shoves the papers back into his bag and leaves the study room, unable to stay in the small space. He quickly grows tired of the library and wanders the streets of New York, noticing all the different things. Someone he passes on the street is selling something, yelling “Buy some time! Get your time here!” If only.

He ends up at a cafe where the price of coffee nearly makes his eyes explode. But he buys one without complaint and sits at a table, drawing what he used to see. A waitress comes up to him and asks, “Waiting for the big guy?”

“Ma’am?” Steve says, confused.

“Iron Man,” she explains. “Lot of people eat here just to see him fly by.”

“Right,” Steve says bitterly. “Maybe another time.” He pulls out his wallet and drops some cash on the table.

“Table’s yours as long as you like,” she says kindly, “Nobody’s waiting on it.” She pours him some more coffee and as she’s walking away she says, “Plus we’ve got free wireless.”

“Radio?” Steve mutters. She turns back and smiles.

“Ask for her number, you moron,” An elderly man says from the next table over. Steve stares, confused, then shakes his head. He leaves the cafe, rides the subway, and somehow finds himself in a little gym, handing over cash to the owner and receiving a key in return. He spends a couple hours at the gym, taking his frustrations out on punching bags - a lot of them - before he remembers that he should be back at SHIELD by now.

There’s a package waiting on his bed when he gets back, and he only hesitates for a moment before opening it.

A sheaf of papers fall out, along with a couple of small plastic rectangles and the thing called a cell phone that was explained to him in _excruciating_ detail by Agent Jones on his fourth day in this building. A small note flutters out, landing on top of the papers.

_S,_

_Enjoy your classroom. Hope you learn something while you’re there._

_\- C_

Steve reads through the sheaf of papers, jaw dropping the further into them he gets. The first two pages tell him that he’s been enrolled in the University of New York, starting next month. His classes include Postwar America Since 1945, Gender and Sexuality in US History, International Politics, Introduction to Psychology and a free space in his schedule - ‘ _find something interesting_ ’ written in the margins from Coulson.

The third page details his new identity. Steven Robertson, age 26. Born and bred in New York, did a couple stints in the army, honourable discharge, went back to school.

The fourth page has multiple instructions on what _not_ to do so he doesn’t blow his cover that Steve promptly crumples into a ball and throws over his shoulder.

The fifth and sixth page detail his new living arrangements - he’ll be living with someone who is only referred to as ‘CB’ throughout the whole document in an apartment building off campus - and his finances. His eyes bug out at the amount of money SHIELD has put into his new bank account and he chokes on air before reading Coulson’s second little note.

_Don’t worry, it’s not as much as it seems. Don’t spend it all in one place, Steve. - C_

Steve is feeling a little overwhelmed so he sits down on the floor and stares at the wall for a couple hours, coming back to himself when his stomach growls loudly. He scowls at it and stomps over to his fridge, yanking it open and blinking at the stark white emptiness of it. He debates calling someone to ask for food, having decided against it when a knock on his door startles him, as does the bored looking agent who shoves a box at him. “Courtesy of Agent Coulson,” he says over his shoulder as he walks away.

Steve sniffs the box curiously, opening it to find something that looks vaguely like pizza they had in the 30’s. Steve takes one bite and the next thing he knows, the box is empty and he’s licking his fingers on the floor of his kitchen. A scowl crosses his face as he realizes that the only way Coulson would have known he was hungry is if Steve’s being watched.

Steve, despite popular opinion, is not an idiot. He is completely aware that in the 66 years since he crashed the Valkyrie, there have surely been many advancements in spy technology. Steve has no doubt that most, if not all, of those methods, are pointed directly at him. He listened to Bucky’s rants about how the future would progress on those late nights when Bucky had a little too much to drink and got all bright-eyed and flushed and - Steve shuts down that train of thoughts firmly, turning his mind to his upcoming education. He surprises himself when a yawn escapes him so he stands up, stretches, sticks his middle fingers up and turns in a slow circle around the room, and walks into the bedroom.

He falls asleep quickly and dreams of snow.

~~~~~~

Steve feels like a moron. He’s been standing outside CB’s door for five minutes now, knocking occasionally and no one is answering. Maybe CB’s still asleep? Steve checks his watch and sees that its 11:00 so any functioning human should be awake by now. He shifts his duffle bag into his other hand and knocks again, this time nearly punching the man who answers in the face.

“Oh shit, sorry!” The man says, rubbing his eyes. “I didn’t have my ears in so I couldn’t hear you before!” Steve checks subtly. The man’s ears are, in fact, attached to his head. “Steve, right? Come in! Mi casa es su casa!” CB’s Spanish is terrible. CB shows him to the second bedroom and babbles about bus routes and coffee shops and more stuff that Steve doesn’t care enough to understand. “Questions?” CB asks.

Fuck it. “Who are you?” Steve says bluntly.

“Oh shit!” The man curses. He smacks himself on the forehead. “I’m Clint. Clint Barton.” He holds out a hand for Steve to shake so Steve shakes his hand, despite wanting to do literally anything but that.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve says absent-mindedly, tossing his duffle onto the bed.

“Good one,” Clint snorts. Steve raises an eyebrow at him. Clint’s jaw drops. “Aw, no,” Clint stands up straight and salutes at him sloppily. “You’re serious? No wonder Coulson was pissing himself when he talked about you.” Steve tenses but Clint doesn’t notice, still babbling on about Coulson.

“You work for SHIELD?” Steve interrupts.

Clint stops, takes in Steve’s body language, and sighs. “Goddammit Phil,” He mutters, dragging a hand across his eyes. “Yes, I work for SHIELD. I’m on medical leave right now because I broke a couple or six bones on my last op. Yes, they want me to watch you. No, I will not be reporting your every move back to them, and no, they will not be barging in here to question you every day.”

Steve’s tense posture relaxes slightly, and he smiles sheepishly at Clint. “Sorry, it’s just…” He gestures blankly.

Clint nods, despite Steve having said nothing. “Trust me, I get it. When Phil first approached me about joining SHIELD, neither one of us walked away from that meeting uninjured. It took me two years to trust him, and three more years to even consider the job.” Clint walks out of Steve’s bedroom and Steve follows, interested in his story. “A shadowy government organization pops up and asks you to work for them for a undetermined length of time?” He shakes his head. “I don’t regret my decision to start working for SHIELD, but sometimes I wonder if their recruitment tactics need some work.”

Despite himself, Steve chuckles. Clint presses a bunch of buttons on a machine that Steve’s saw in the kitchen at SHIELD and it starts whirring. “What’s that do?” Steve asks.

Clint grins. “This, my friend, is the best thing humanity has ever done.” He makes a trumpeting noise and wiggles his hands in front of the machine. “The coffee maker!” The machine finishes pouring coffee into a bright purple mug and Clint grabs it and slides another one under the spout.

Steve snorts. “Best thing humanity’s done, huh? I don’t doubt it.”

Clint snickers. “Did you have to sit through Jones’ ‘modern history’ lecture too? They made me sit through an hour of him talking about the latest models of bone regrowth technology when I got back from my last op as punishment for defying orders.”

“Do they just pick a topic out of a hat and make their dullest agent prepare hours of material for it?” Steve asks. He’s genuinely curious.

“Nah, Jones picks and prepares the topics himself. I genuinely believe he was a professor in another life. A boring ass professor, but a professor nonetheless.” Clint takes a long slurp from his mug and then the machine dings. “How do you take it?” He asks, gesturing to his counter that’s filled with various coffee fixings, Steve thinks. Steve just shrugs. “We’ll try black then, and if you don’t like that, we’ll make it up as we go.” He hands Steve the mug and Steve takes a sip, immediately spitting it out.

“What the fuck?” He squawks incoherently, rubbing at his tongue. “That tastes like ass!”

Clint snickers. “Not black, then.” He takes Steve’s mug, adds some stuff, and gives the mug back to him.

Steve is much more cautious now, and takes a much smaller sip. He considers the taste for a moment. “Better, but still not right,” He says, handing the mug back to Clint.

Clint nods, a smile breaking out over his face. “Man, teaching Captain America about the wonders of modern coffee!” Steve’s face shutters and he pulls in on himself. Clint notices. “Sorry, man. Teaching Steve Rogers about coffee! Nat isn’t going to believe this!” Clint seems genuinely sorry but Steve is quiet and withdrawn for the rest of the day.

They eventually discover (after three hours of exploration) that Steve likes his coffee relatively sweet, and spend a bit more time (two hours) finding the perfect balance of coffee and sugar and cream. By the time they’re done, Clint is so jazzed up on caffeine he can barely talk straight, and even Steve is starting to feel a buzz.

“Man, this is so cool! I can’t believe we just spent the whole day drinking coffee! Are you hungry? I’m hungry! How do you feel about pizza? Can we get pizza? I’m ordering pizza!” Clint is off, springing over the couch to grab a small rectangular box and then tripping over his own two feet to get back. “Do you even know what pizza is? Do you like anchovies? Where do you stand on the pineapple on pizza debate? Can you even eat pizza? Are you even hungry?”

Steve can’t get a word in edgewise, so he just sits back, amused. Clint babbles on about the various types of toppings one can get on pizza for about twenty minutes (Steve knows, he counted) before finally splitting the box he grabbed off the sofa in half and pressing a button. The screen flickers to life and a picture of Clint and a dog squished together appears. Clint pokes at the box, still babbling, and the screen flickers some more.

“Did they explain to you what a laptop was? Did they even tell you what the internet was?” Clint says, seeing Steve staring. Steve shakes his head. “Well, we gotta fix that!” Clint exclaims, then promptly spend the next four hours explaining the internet and laptops and technology to Steve. He’s very patient with all of Steve’s stupid questions, and only devolves into a rant on how the government is always watching that ends with him flipping off his taped-over webcam once. By the time the fifth pizza arrives - because Clint did in fact order multiple pizzas once Steve explained his enhanced metabolism to him - Clint is patting his bloated stomach and Steve is still kind of hungry.

“Man, I’m so glad we’re on the same side of the pineapple debate, man,” Clint says, “I don’t think I could deal with it we weren’t.”

Steve laughs, feeling content for the first time since he woke up. “Yeah, well, I still can’t believe you like anchovies. Disgusting little slime fish.” He gags theatrically and Clint smirks.

The two fully grown, seasoned veterans break out into a pillow fight, smacking each other. It only stops for a minute when Steve bursts a pillow over Clint’s head, and finally stops for good when Steve hits Clint so hard something flies out of his ear and Clint yells, “Cease fire! Cease fire!” Steve stops immediately and Clint crawls over to the tiny purple plastic thing and jams in into his ear, wincing.

“What’s that?” Steve asks curiously.

“Hearing aid.” Clint’s shoulders are weirdly tense and Steve doesn’t understand why, until he does.

“You mean those tiny things help you hear? Man, I would’ve killed to have had those when I was young!” Steve says incredulously, a few things making more sense now he knows Clint is at least partially deaf. Why he didn’t answer the door when Steve knocked, for one.

Clint blinks at him. “You were deaf?”

Steve snorts. “Completely in my left ear, mostly in my right ear. Serum healed it. And then some.”

Clint grins. “Aw, they don’t say that in the history books!”

“Yeah, well why would they?” Steve says, “From what you’ve told me, half the shit I had isn’t even around anymore, and the other half is fixable. What do they tell you?” Steve is still wrapping his head around being a major historical figure and having books written about him,  but hearing that stuff has been removed from the narrative doesn’t surprise him.

Clint thinks for a minute. “Asthma, rheumatic fever, scarlet fever, sinusitis, frequent colds, high blood pressure, heart problems.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, that’s about half. Also had two bum knees, heart palpitations, shitty joints, scoliosis, and I probably would have been blind by the time I was 30, deaf by 35, and dead one way or another by 36.”

Clint’s mouth drops open. “Jeez, no wonder you were full of anger.” He puts his hands in the air and separates them, “Steve Rogers, Tiny Ball of Righteous Fury.”

Steve bursts out laughing. “That’s exactly how Bucky -” He stops. He tries again. “That’s how -” And then he’s crying. Giant tears fall onto the couch and sobs tear their way out of his chest.

“Aw, tears no,” Steve vaguely hears Clint say. A hand awkwardly pats his back a couple times and Steve chuckles wetly through his tears. “There, there?” Clint says, unsure. Under his breath, he mutters to himself, “How the fuck do you comfort someone?”

Steve laughs again, and suddenly he’s crying a little less. The tears slow and the sobs stop, and Steve is eventually just curled into a ball on the sofa, gasping for breath. After a few minutes, he pulls himself into a sitting position and wipes his face. A box of tissues appear in front of his nose and he looks up to see Clint hovering awkwardly.

“Do you… need anything? I’m no good at this, so you gotta tell me if I’m doing okay.” Clint rubs the back of his head, grinning sheepishly.

Steve smiles brokenly. “Yeah, you’re fine.”

Clint shuffles on his feet for a minute, and then, “You think about therapy?”

“I’m not crazy.” Steve snaps.

“Therapy isn't for crazy people, Steve. I’m in therapy. Half the people I know are in therapy. Would you call me crazy?” Clint says sternly.

“Not without taking you to dinner first,” Steve jokes. His humour falls flat so he just shakes his head mutely.

“I don’t know how it was when you were alive, but now, therapy is used to process and deal with problems that you aren’t equipped to deal with on your own. It’s a no-judgement area where you can just talk about what’s bugging you and get help resolving it. People spend eight or more years in school for this, it’s a serious profession.”

Steve holds out his hands, palm up. “Sorry. In my day, therapy was for people who were certifiable. People who talked to the air or had fits. It’s gonna take me a while to get used to the different attitudes towards it.”

“Apology accepted, Steve,” Clint says warmly. “Seriously though, anyone mentioned it to you?” Steve shakes his head. Clint scoffs. “Course they didn’t. God forbid Captain America needs therapy, or help processing the fucking war he lived through. Jesus, sometimes I think we haven’t evolved at all.” Clint pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. “I’ll talk to Coulson about setting you up with a good therapist, alright? You gotta promise me you’ll at least go to one session, okay? You’ll probably hate it, and it’ll definitely suck, but it’s good for you.”

Steve nods, suddenly exhausted. Clint checks the clock and his eyes widen. “Holy shit, Steve, it’s 11:30! No wonder I’m so fuckin’ tired.” He yawns, which triggers a yawn in Steve. “C’mon pal, let’s go to bed.” Clint shows Steve the bathroom and then stumbles off into his room. Steve brushes his teeth mechanically then pulls off his clothes and climbs into bed in his boxers. He stares at the ceiling for a while (two hours, thirteen minutes, twelve seconds) and then closes his eyes and falls asleep immediately.

He dreams of falling through a blackness, whispers all around him. He wakes up unsettled without knowing why.

~~~~~~

The next couple weeks are pretty much spent the same way - way too much pizza, and every couple nights, Steve asks Clint a question about the future and Clint answers to the best of his ability. The most memorable one is when Steve had been out all day and he had seen two men kissing. He came home pretty shaken up and as soon as Clint saw him, he knew something was wrong.

“Hey, Steve. What’s up?” Clint says, sitting up straight.

Steve gnaws on his lip silently. A couple minutes pass, and Steve can tell Clint is going to ask again so he blurts, “I saw two men kissing on the street today! Out in the open!” He stands up and starts pacing.

Clint’s voice sounds odd when he starts talking. “Yeah. And?”

Steve’s head whips up and he stares. “They shouldn’t be doing that where people can see! What if -” He breaks off mid-sentence and goes back to pacing.

“Never took you for a homophobe, Cap,” Clint says. Steve freezes. “I’m kind of disappointed, honestly.”

Steve is stunned into silence. Clint just stares at him for a couple seconds, then shakes his head. “You think I’m a homophobe?” Steve asks incredulously. Clint doesn’t respond. “Clint, I couldn’t care less that those guys are fairies! I’m all for it! Lord knows I’d be a hypocrite if I wasn’t.”

Clint turns around to face him, eyebrow raised. “Then what did you mean when you said they shouldn’t do that where other people could see?”

“What if someone reports them? They could go to jail!” Steve waves his hands around wildly. Clint bursts into laughter. “What?” Steve says, offended.

“Did they really not tell you?” Clint asks, shocked. Steve shakes his head. “Steve, it’s legal now. People of all genders and sexualities can date whoever they like. At least in the United States, anyway.”

Steve’s ears start buzzing and he drops to the floor. “You mean, I could date a fella and not get in trouble for it? Or have to keep it a secret?”

Clint chokes. “You’d date a guy?” Steve nods, still in shock. “Holy shit, you’re gay!” Clint yells.

Steve shakes his head, stupefied. “Not gay.”

“Bisexual, pansexual, whatever.” Clint flaps his hand in the air. “Oh, I gotta tell Coulson about this, he’s gonna lose his shit!”

“No!” Steve shouts, rising to his full height. Clint drops his phone and raises his hands.

“Alright, fine. I won’t say anything. You mind sitting down, pal?” Steve realizes he’s towering over Clint, fists clenched so tightly he’s leaving nail marks in his palm. Steve drops to the floor again, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that being queer is legal now. “Now, that doesn’t mean it’s accepted everywhere. People still get up in arms about it, and in some countries it is still illegal.”

Steve is bursting with questions, but the first one is, “What was that you called me? What do those mean?”

Clint grins and rubs his hands together. “Ooh, educating you about the sexuality spectrum is gonna be so much fun!” That statement launches them into a week long discussion about the different sexualities and gender identities, and by the time Steve’s first therapy appointment rolls around, his head is spinning.

“Mr. Robertson?” A voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he gets up and strides over to the open door, shaking the hand of the lady who lets him in. “Hi, Mr. Robertson.”

“Steve, please,” Steve says with a nervous smile, making himself comfortable in the chair provided.

“Steve, then,” She says, “I’m Dr. Medea Jones.”

Despite himself, Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “Medea like the Medea from Greek myth?”

She laughs. “Exactly like her.”

Steve chuckles softly. “Should I be worried? She did kill her husband.”

Dr. Jones leans forward and winks conspiratorially. “Good thing I’m gay, then.” Steve bursts into laughter, shoulders shaking. “Now then, Steve,” she says, clicking her pen, “What do you want to get out of therapy?"

Steve shrugs. “Well, how much do you know about me?” He’s curious to know what Coulson told her. He knows she’s been cleared to talk to him, so she must have a pretty high level of clearance.

She raises an eyebrow, aware he is testing her. “Well, I know Robertson isn’t your real last name.”

Steve shrugs, then dives right in. “I have shell-shock. I was told that you can help me deal with that properly so it doesn’t consume me.”

Dr. Jones scribbles something on her notepad. “It’s called Post-Traumatic Stress nowadays. Could you tell me more about why you think you have that?”

Steve sighs. “I fought in the bloodiest war in human history - I think. Unless there’s been another one?”

Dr. Jones shakes her head, then reconsiders. “Not a world war, anyway.”

Steve groans. “Can’t humanity just get their shit together?” Dr. Jones shrugs. “Anyway, I fought in the bloodiest war in human history, saw good men and women die, killed people, watched my best friend fall off a train -” He takes a shuddering breath and counts to three, then opens his eyes and continues, “Then flew a plane filled with bombs into the ocean expecting to die and woke up 66 years later, where nearly everyone I knew and loved is dead or gone, and was told that I need to keep fighting.” He raises an eyebrow. “Does that qualify?”

Dr. Jones looks at him silently, then puts her pen down. “Steve, I am so sorry. What you’ve been through…” She shakes her head. “It’s enough to make even the strongest person crumble.”

Steve shrugs. “Fighting seemed worth it at the time.”

Dr. Jones blinks. “Can we touch on that a bit more? Could you explain to me why you chose to crash the plane instead of landing it safely and letting someone defuse the bombs?”

Steve jerks. “Right into it, huh Doc.” He takes a fortifying breath. “Alright then. As I’m sure you’re aware, I had lost Bucky just a few days prior to that. My head wasn’t on straight. I was being reckless, jumping into fights without a well thought-out plan…” He shrugs. “It was only a matter of time before my actions caught up to me.”

“Did you fly into the ocean because there was no other choice? Or did you choose to fly into the ocean?” The question stumps him. While he was flying the plane, he never really thought about that. Of course, once he made the decision to crash it, he felt at peace somehow. Even knowing he was going to die, didn’t ruffle his feathers.

“I guess…” Dr. Jones waits patiently. “I think I chose to fly the plane into the ocean.”

“And why did you make that choice, Steve?” He hesitates before answering. “Remember, this is a safe place. Nothing you say here will be heard by anyone outside this room. I am legally bound against telling anyone what you say here, unless what you say makes me think you will be a danger to yourself or others.”

Her reassurances relax him enough to answer. “I was… sad, I guess. I missed Bucky and there was no end to the war in sight. Given enough time, I probably could have figured out another way but…” He shrugs again. “I didn’t want to find another way.” The admittance takes a huge weight of his shoulders he didn’t even know he was carrying, and Dr. Jones nods.   
  
“Do you feel that way still?” She asks carefully.

Steve takes a look at himself and evaluates his feelings. After a brief pause, he shakes his head. “No. I’m not happy here, not with all my friends and family dead, but I think I could be content.”

“Why was Bucky’s death so devastating to you? As far as the general public is aware, the two of you were just best friends.” Dr. Jones raises an eyebrow and Steve grimaces. He was afraid this was going to come up.

“Me an’ Bucky… We were more than friends, more than brothers. We were together for a while, up until he left for the war. Jerk kicked me loose ‘cause he didn’t want me to end up a widower.” Steve shakes his head, huffing. “‘M still mad about it.”

“You said widower. Were you and Bucky married?” Dr. Jones asks, her pen poised above her notepad.

Steve shrugs. “As much as we could be. We weren’t legally married, and the Church certainly didn’t view us as such, but we considered ourselves together. On my end, at least, there was nobody else. Not then, and not now.”

“On your end?”

“I couldn’t give Bucky everything he wanted. He wanted kids, a family, white picket fence, the whole nine yards. He couldn’t have that with me. So he would go out dancing and meet girls, and if he found one he liked and thought I would like, he brought her home to meet me.” Steve twiddles his thumbs, not sure about this next part. “We had it set up so that the girl didn’t find out about me and Bucky until way later on. We couldn’t take the chance that she would tell anyone. Me an’ Buck just figured that I would live with him and his wife, pass me off as the sickly bachelor who couldn’t live on his own. If I was healthy, it never would have worked.”

“What about Agent Carter?” Steve’s eyes shoot up to meet Dr. Jones’. “The romance between you two is well-documented.”

Steve scoffs. “Well-documented, my ass. Peggy knew about me and Bucky the second I went marching into Colonel Phillips’ tent and spelled out his name. If things had been different, she might’ve been the girl we took home after the war. She had a girl back home, Angie, I think.” Steve shakes his head. “Her and Buck got it into their heads that after the war, I’d marry Angie and Bucky’d marry Peg, and we’d all live together like one big fucked-up family.”

“Would that have been so bad?” Dr. Jones asks softly.

Steve’s breath escapes him with a _whoosh_. He shakes his head. “No,” He says softly, “It wouldn’t have.”

The two of them sit in silence for a bit longer, and then Dr. Jones says, “Well, Steve, I think this is a good place to stop for today. Do you feel like this helped?”

Steve nods. “I’m not as confused as I was before, I guess. I mean, I knew what I was doing but I didn’t really know why I was doing it. Now I do, mostly.”

“Good, I’m glad. Feel free to book another appointment with Lacey outside.” They both stand and shake hands. Steve walks out and books another appointment, then heads home with his hands in his pockets and his head in the clouds.

When he makes it back to the apartment, he walks up the stairs slowly, still stuck in his head. It takes him a couple seconds to notice that the door to Clint’s apartment is ajar. Steve takes three seconds to think. “Hey, Clint, you home pal? I was thinking we could get some pizza!” He calls loudly, tossing his keys into the bowl on the table and kicking off his shoes. “You would not believe what I discovered today. There are these things called Pizza Pockets -” Someone jumps on him from behind and not expecting the sudden weight, Steve lets their two bodies fall to the floor with a loud thump.

Steve reaches behind him and grabs the first thing his hand comes into contact with, which ends up being the forearm of a red-haired lady. “Lady, what the fuck -” Her other hand comes up and punches him in the mouth, knocking his head to the side - mostly of out shock, but points to her for ingenuity. He grabs the lady and wraps her into a bear hug, trapping her arms between her and his chest and then falls to his knees, bracketing her legs in between his.

She curses in what sounds like Russian, and does a little wiggle that would have gotten her out of his grip, had he been anyone else. Steve simply shifts his hand to her waist and squeezes, making her freeze against him. “Interesting,” Steve mutters absently, his brain occupied with theories on who this woman is.

“Where the fuck is Clint?” She hisses, starting to wiggle again.

“Fuck if I know. He might be walking Lucky, or hanging out on the roof, or even fighting off the Russian mobsters two buildings down because he’s bored. Wanna tell me who you are, doll?” Steve drawls, tightening his hold.

“Carmen Sanchez,” She says, going limp.

Steve shakes his head. “Try again.” She stiffens against him slightly - honestly, if she wasn’t pressed up against him, this woman’s poker face could probably give Peggy’s a run for its money.

“I’m a friend of Clint’s,” she says, “I thought he would be here when I got here.”

Steve nods decisively. “If I let you up, are you going to try to kill me again?”

“Probably,” She admits. A surprised laugh escapes Steve.

“Alright,” Steve says. He releases her arms from his grip and shoves her across the floor so she’s a few feet away from him. She spins around and eyes him thoughtfully, one hand on the floor to balance her and one hand behind her back, likely holding a knife.

Steve shifts on the floor and she twitches. Not violently, but enough to get his attention. “You mind if I sit down? This position is hell on my knees,” A lie, but she doesn’t know that. She considers for a moment then jerks her head, and Steve swings his legs around and plops down on his ass.

“Do you want to call Clint or should I?” Steve asks. She jerks her chin at him and he shrugs, reaching around behind him. She tenses slightly and he brings his hand back around to show her it’s empty. “There’s a gun in the small of my back in a holster. I can grab it and give it to you or you can come here and take it.”

“How do I know you won’t shoot me?” She asks. She has a nice voice, Steve thinks.

“You don’t,” He says simply. The corner of her mouth lifts and Steve smirks internally, pleased with himself. “Look, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it when you jumped on my back. I’ll give you the gun and then grab my phone to call Clint.” She nods and he does as he said he would, sliding the gun over to her. If she’s as well-trained as he thinks she is, she knew about the gun and she knows about the knife attached to his ankle. He grabs his phone and dials one of the only three numbers in there.

“Yo.” Clint answers the phone as he always does, no doubt not even checking the caller ID. Steve suppresses a groan.

“Clint. There’s a lady in your apartment and she tried to kill me. I mean, I tried to kill her back so we’re probably even, but still, I think you should get back here.”

Clint swears. “Goddammit, she wasn’t supposed to be there for another couple hours. Fine, I’ll be home in an hour, can you two manage not to kill each other until then?”

Steve covers the mouthpiece of the phone. “He wants to know if we can manage not to kill each other for an hour.” The lady cocks her head and nods after a few moments of deliberation. Uncovering the mouthpiece, Steve says, “Yeah, we can probably manage that.” The lady smirks visibly and Steve grins back at her.

“I swear to God, if the two of you end up becoming friends, I’m going to jump off a roof.” Clint grumbles. Then he hangs up. Steve shoves the phone into his back pocket and cracks his back.

“He threatened to jump off a roof if we became friends,” Steve informs her. He debates the pros and cons of startling her for approximately three seconds before he stands up straight and walks into the kitchen. “I’m making coffee, you want some?”

She pads into the kitchen behind him and hops up onto the counter, watching him move about the room. “Well, now we have to get along,” she says, “There’s a bottle of vodka on top of the third shelf to your left. Shot glasses next door over.” Steve snorts and finishes pressing the buttons that will make the machine make his coffee then grabs the vodka and two shot glasses.

“Salut,” Steve says, pouring a shot and drinking it. The vodka burns slightly going down, but it’s a good burn. He thinks maybe it wasn’t a good idea to drink alcohol in front of someone who is likely a superspy, especially when he didn’t buy the bottle himself, but shrugs and pours another shot. Not like it’ll affect him anyway. He slides it over to her and watches her drink it, entranced with the way her throat moves. “Would you mind if I drew you?” It takes Steve a minute, but he realizes that he asked that. To busy himself while he waits for her answer, he grabs his coffee mug and fixes it the way he likes it.

She cocks her head. “Would it be a nude drawing?” She purrs. Steve manages not to react externally, but it’s close. He nearly choked on his coffee.

“If you want,” He says, watching her over his mug. He has a feeling that she won’t expose herself to him like that.

After a few moments of consideration, she shakes her head. “Maybe some other time.” That’s all she offers, so that’s all Steve will take. They sit in silence for a few minutes until Steve finishes his coffee and she pushes the vodka back his way so he puts it back on the top of the cupboard.

“So.” Steve says, and he watches her tense. “Is that your natural hair colour or do you get it treated?”

She blinks, which Steve thinks is her way of being surprised. “It’s been this way since I was a girl,” She says slowly like she’s expecting him to keep asking questions.

“It’s a beautiful colour,” Steve offers, “Reminds me of my mother’s favourite dress.” Steve yawns and drains the rest of his coffee, then gets up and stretches. “Will you wake me up when Clint gets here?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just walks over to the couch and flops onto his back.

He wiggles around a little, trying to get comfortable, then puts his arm over his eyes. His breathing evens out and he’s sure to the casual observer, he looks dead to the world. He’s equally as sure that this woman is not the casual observer.

“What are you doing?” She asks. She seems genuinely confused.

“I’m taking a nap. Didn’t sleep well last night.” Steve says without removing his arm from over his eyes. It makes him slightly twitchy to be unable to see the room, but his other senses are nearly good enough to make up for it.

“Maybe you need someone to wear you out beforehand,” She purrs, running a hand down his chest.

Steve doesn’t react, other than to say, “Sorry doll, not my type.” It’s not technically true, but he knows she’s not being serious anyway, just trying to get a reaction out of him. Her hand disappears, but he knows that’s not the end of it. Something pokes at his feet, so he spreads his legs, chuckling lowly when she plops herself in between them and tucks her feet underneath his thigh. “Comfy?” He asks.

She hums and tucks her feet further under his thigh. Steve settles into the couch and closes his eyes. He won’t actually fall asleep with an unfamiliar person this close to him, but maybe he can doze until Clint gets home. He drifts in and out, never removing his arm from his eyes.

After about half an hour of the two of them sitting on the couch in silence, the lady pokes him in the leg, then does it again with more force when he doesn’t respond. Steve grunts. “Clint’s heading up now.”

Steve pulls his arm off his eyes and grins. “Wanna fuck with him?”

A sly smile crosses her face. “What did you have in mind?”

“Can I move you around?” Steve asks, his hands hovering above her waist. She nods sharply, then gives half a squeak when he grabs her and moves her around until she’s laying on top of him. “This okay?” Steve asks, settling in beneath her and wrapping his arm around her waist.

She wiggles around until her head is just under his chin then looks up at him and grins wickedly. “I think I might like you,” She says.

Steve grins back. “Feeling’s mutual, doll. Now shush and go to sleep.” She tucks her head under his chin, puts a hand on his chest and to the untrained eye, it looks as though she is asleep on Steve’s chest. Steve wraps his leg around hers, careful to leave her other leg free, and closes his eyes. It takes a few minutes, but eventually Clint bursts into the apartment.

“Steve? Natasha?” Clint’s voice comes closer, then moves right past them as he checks the bedroom. Steve keeps his breathing even, relaxing his face and letting out a little snore. “Please be still alive, please be still alive - what the fuck?” Steve groans and pulls - Natasha? Probably. - the lady closer, tucking his nose into her hair. Her hand curls around the back of his neck and she squishes her body deeper into his chest.

“Fuck off, Clint, we’re napping,” the lady says, her voice muffled in Steve’s chest.

“Yeah Clint, go away,” Steve echoes. He feels a smile tugging at his face, so he keeps his nose in her hair to cover his face.

“How the fuck did you two go from nearly killing each other to snuggling on my couch?” Clint asks, disbelief strong in his voice.

Steve raises his head and points a finger at Clint blearily. “Our couch, Clint, I live here too.” Having said his piece, he moves to tuck his face back into her hair, but she shifts just enough to let him know that she’s getting uncomfortable, so he unwraps his arms from her under the pretense of stretching. She sits up and ends up straddling him shakily, so he puts his hands back on her waist to keep her steady.

“Yeah, our couch, whatever, Steve. Explain how the fuck!” Clint gestures wildly at the two of them and Steve directs his gaze to the person currently sitting on him. Their eyes meet and Steve can’t hold it in anymore. He snickers, and that makes her lips curl, and eventually Steve is roaring with laughter.

Clint pouts as he realizes he’s been played and a grin spreads across the lady’s face. Steve eventually quiets down, still snickering occasionally. “I’m Natasha,” she says, holding out her hand.

Steve grins at her. “Steve Rogers.” He shakes her hand firmly then lifts her off of his chest and puts her on the couch.

“She won’t even let me do that!” Clint cries.

Steve shrugs. “I get the feeling it was a one-time thing. If you’ll excuse me, I gotta use the restroom.” He heads to the washroom, taking slightly longer than he needs to thoroughly wash his hands. When he gets back to the kitchen, Natasha is still on the couch, but Clint is sprawled out on his purple bean bag, tossing pretzels into the air and catching them in his mouth, eyes trained on Natasha.

Natasha is doing something with her hands and it almost looks like they’re dancing. Steve wanders over to the couch and drops onto the floor, leaning his head against the couch cushions. “What’re you doing with your hands?” He asks, expecting an answer like ‘keeping them flexible so it’s easier to kill people with them’.

“It’s sign language. It’s what we use when Clint doesn’t have his ears in,” Natasha says, her hands still moving. “Makes it easier to communicate if he gets himself blown up on a mission again.” Steve is entranced by her movements, enthralled by the way she makes it look so graceful.

Steve is suddenly hit with the urge to capture this scene on paper, and the familiar feeling would have knocked him on his ass if he wasn’t already sitting down. He takes a moment to ruminate on how seeing Natasha seems to have kickstarted his urge to draw for the first time since he got out of the ice, and ignores the reasons that his brain is telling him he has. He pulls his sketchbook out from under the table, a pencil from under the couch, and settles in to draw.

It takes him a couple tries to get her hands right because they keep moving and he doesn’t want her to stop moving them, but he eventually manages to catch her hands frozen in one position. He sketches those out first, then loses himself in drawing the rest of her body. He may have told her she wasn’t his type, but Steve has always had a thing for dangerous people.

He doesn’t realize he’s being watched until he looks up to figure out the shape of Natasha’s eyes and finds her an inch from the side of his head, watching him sketch. “I can stop,” he offers. She just shakes her head so he keeps drawing. At one point, he takes her chin with his left hand and tilts it to the side to get a better look at how her hair curls around her ear.

The three of them sit in silence for hours; Steve drawing, Natasha watching and occasionally communicating with Clint in sign, and Clint laying upside down in his bean bag, watching the two of them with something unreadable in his eyes.

Steve finishes the drawing and stretches out his fingers. The serum takes care of any aches or pains that he would’ve gotten before but it’s still soothing to do the motion. He carefully tears out the page and offers it to Natasha. She takes it almost reverently, fingers running over the gentle lines he used to draw her, and the harsher lines he used for the rest of the scene. She leans back on the couch and looks at the drawing silently. Steve cracks his knuckles and starts a new page, this one of Clint.

Steve tries to draw Clint’s smile from memory, but he can’t get it right. He huffs in frustration and leans back, rolling his neck to stretch it out. He notices Natasha staring at him curiously, so he taps the many ways he’s managed to get Clint’s smile wrong. She tilts her head to the side then signs something with her hands that makes Clint huff with laughter, giving the barest hint of a grin.

Steve outlines that little peek of Clint’s tongue poking out from between his teeth quickly, but taps the page again. Natasha signs something else that has Clint grinning widely and Steve is frozen with shock as the force of that grin hits him. A flick to the back of his head snaps him out of it and he sketches out Clint’s smile, adding it to the sketch he started on the next page.

He looks up once more and catches Natasha staring at him, face unreadable. He cocks an eyebrow and she shakes her head, so he shrugs and goes back to drawing Clint. He spends an extra half hour or so on Clint’s hearing aids, using slightly darker lines to make them more noticeable, and he makes sure to add in the bandages that are peppered across Clint’s body.

He shifts on the floor, adjusting his position when he starts on Clint’s arms. He shifts again when he draws Clint’s hands, and it takes him a minute to stop staring at the man himself and get back to staring at the drawing.

It takes him a couple more hours to finish that one, and when he tears it out and gives it to Clint, he’s not expecting a response. At most, he’s expecting Clint to react the same way Natasha did; silently.

He is not expecting to get an armful of Clint as he throws himself at Steve and wraps his arms tightly around him. Steve returns the hug, bewildered, and looks at Natasha. She shrugs, but there’s a smile playing about her lips.

“This is so cool, man!” Clint says, pulling away from the hug. He turns away from Steve and holds the page up to the light, jokingly criticizing it. “I mean, you could’ve made my arms a little bigger and maybe my ears a little smaller but - ow, Nat! Alright fine!” He rubs the back of his head sheepishly and faces Steve. “This is great, man. Seriously, thanks. A Steve Rogers original, awesome!” Clint noogies the top of Steve’s head as he walks by, ignoring Steve’s shout of outrage.

And if Steve notices that Clint’s eyes are a little red as he leaves, well. That’s none of his business.


	2. Chapter Two: Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve goes to school, makes some friends, and meets a Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! How y'all been? Just like, FYI, I almost uploaded this early. I really like this chapter for a couple reasons; 1) we meet some of my OC's. I love them all dearly, please be kind. 2) Student!Steve, y'all! 
> 
> Again, thanks to my lovely beta, @tomorraw on tumblr. I would not have gotten this fic done if it weren't for her, so give her some love!
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: There are some frank mentions of Steve's past suicidal ideality immediately after Bucky died. If you want to skip it, stop reading at "But they’re close to figuring it out. You didn’t know?” and start again at “Stop what? What does SHIELD have?” Mention #2 starts at "When I crashed the Valkyrie..." and ends just before "Natasha's feet are pulled out from under his legs and Steve looks up."
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Two - Shock**

Steve wasn’t lost. He knew precisely where he was. He was standing in front of the main administrative building staring at his schedule. The words were all blurring together. Maybe he didn’t sleep enough last night? Steve huffs a sigh and scrubs his hand over his face. The map doesn’t make any more sense when he looks at it again.

He looks up from the map, hoping to see some landmark that could tell him where he is, but there’s nothing. Just buildings and tired-looking people, rushing from place to place. “Hey!” Someone says, their voice faint. Steve stares at his map. “Hey, blondie!” Someone comes to a stop in front of Steve and he looks up, not really processing anything other than someone standing in front of him. “You lost?” Steve opens his mouth to protest, then nods sheepishly. The person laughs. “It’s alright, I got lost too, my first month. It’s a big campus. Where ya headed?” Steve hands over his schedule. “Hey, I’ve got Postwar too! Wanna walk together?”

“God, _please_ ,” Steve says thankfully. The two of them start walking.

“I’m Alex. Alex Canoprie.”

Steve shakes his head to snap himself out of the fog he’s in, then holds out his hand. “Steve Robertson.” They shake hands and Steve takes in Alex’s appearance. A mess of wavy purple hair sits on the top of their head, the bright colour somehow suiting what Steve’s seen of Alex’s personality so far. Three ear piercings, big glasses, a shirt that says ‘5 out of 4 people struggle with math’ and a short body brings Steve to the conclusion that he’s going to like Alex.

“So, Steve,” Alex says, “What brings you to our glorious university?”

“Figured I should probably do something with my life after I left the army. Thought I could learn something,” Steve says, shrugging.

“Ah, army man,” Alex teases, “Well, thanks for your service. You excited to start classes?” And just like that, they’ve moved on from his service and into talking about school. Steve is relieved that he doesn’t have to lie to Alex, they seem like a nice person.

The two of them talk easily until they reach the building their class is in and then they grab a couple seats near the middle of the lecture hall. Steve’s a little overwhelmed with how many people there are, and all the noises aren’t making it easier to concentrate on what Alex is saying.

“Hey, you alright?” Alex says, concern evident in their voice, and Steve realizes he’s been wincing.

“I, uh, have really good hearing,” Steve explains, “Like freaky good.” He jerks his head at two people whispering on the other end of the room. “They’re talking about her brother and his penchant for smoking weed in their basement. It can be a lot to deal with sometimes.”

Alex nods. “I get that. Sensory overload can be a bitch. Can I do anything?”

Steve smiles apologetically. “Not unless you can get the entire lecture hall to shut the fuck up.” He shrugs at their worried look. “‘S’alright, I’m used to it. Been a while since anyone else cared though.”

They chat quietly for the next couple minutes about nothing in particular. A loud bang from the front of the room makes Steve flinch, and the pencil he’s holding snaps in half. “Alright, people!” A man who must be the professor yells. The room slowly goes quiet and he grins. “Who’s ready to get this shit started? I’m Professor Abrams but you can call me Jack, Professor, Sir, whatever the fuck you want as long as it’s relatively appropriate. I assume you all brought your syllabus with you?”

Steve’s eyes widen and he panics a little until a nudge in his side draws his attention. Alex puts a couple pieces of paper stapled together in the space between them and Steve breathes out. He mouths his thanks and they nod. Professor Abrams seems like a decent enough professor, and even reading through the syllabus isn’t awful. He makes jokes and keeps the class engaged until it’s time to leave.

“Remember y’all, do the reading for next week! You won’t know what the fuck is going on if you don’t!” He yells, making Steve snort. He packs up his stuff and waits for Alex so they can walk out together.

“So?” Alex asks as they’re leaving. “How was it?”

Before Steve can answer, someone slams into him from behind, making him stumble forward a few steps.

“Watch where you’re fuckin’ going, dick for brains,” The person snarls viciously.

Steve just raises an eyebrow and stares them down. They eventually slink away, grumbling to themselves and Steve walks over to Alex. “Holy shit, Steve, Murder Glare is a thing, noted. Remind me never to get on your bad side!” Alex jests, poking Steve’s side and laughing when he yelps. “We’ve got an hour to kill before our next class, wanna meet some of my friends?”

Steve debates. “I don’t wanna impose,” he says shyly.

Alex waves a hand. “Nah, they’ll love you. You’re cool with groups of people right? Like four more, plus us?” Steve nods. “Fantastic! We’re meeting in the cafe down the road.” They leave the building, following the stream of people and make it to the cafe relatively unscathed. Steve ended up cutting a swath through the river of people with Alex holding on to the back of his shirt and walking behind him.

When they walk into the cafe, Steve can hardly breathe through his laughter and Alex is pouting. “So not fair!” The complaint is loud enough to gather the attention of a few people in the cafe, but Alex just shrugs and continues leading him to a table with a couple of other people around it.

“What’s not fair?” A new voice pipes up, belonging to one of the people at the table.

Steve is still trying to catch his breath so Alex takes over. “Guys, Steve Robertson. Steve, that’s Darcy Lewis,” pointing at the brunette girl sitting across from Alex. Darcy gives a little wave, not looking up from where she’s intently reading a textbook and chewing on a combination of her brown hair and her pencil. “Miles Ramone and Jessie Colcheck, they’re dating.” Miles and Jessie roll their eyelinered eyes in sync, making Steve snort. “And Jake’s not here yet, but he has class for another half hour so you’ll meet him later.”

Steve waves at everyone, instantly struck with the urge to paint Darcy chewing on her pencil in watercolours and to draw Miles and Jessie in contrast.

“Anyway,” Alex huffs, “What’s not fair is that it normally takes me ten minutes to get here from class, and Steve managed to cut that time in half by literally just using his Dorito-ness to cut a path. Why couldn’t I have been blessed with Dorito-ness?” Miles and Jessie snicker.

“Alex, babes, if you had Dorito-ness, we all know how you would use that.” Miles does a little shoulder-shimmy and Alex snorts. Steve is confused but no one offers an explanation so he resolves to ask Clint later. Steve falls into an easy rhythm with these people, poking fun and cracking jokes fifteen minutes into meeting them.

“Pronouns?” Darcy pipes up suddenly, looking at Steve.

“Pardon?” Steve asks, missing what she said due to trying to catch a pretzel thrown by Jessie in his mouth.

“What pronouns do you use?” She clarifies.

Alex smacks their head off the table. “Fuck. I totally forgot to ask.”

Steve shrugs. “No biggie,” He assures Alex. He remembers the conversation he had with Clint and replays it in his mind, trying to remember what that question means. It takes him a few seconds, but he gets there. “He/him.”

Alex raises a hand. “They/them, por favor.” Darcy and Jessie are she/her, and Miles is they/them as well.

“Gender is a social construct, but it makes Darcy feel better to have an identifier,” Miles explains. “She’s very against misgendering someone.”

“Misgendering someone invalidates their entire gender journey! You wouldn’t call Jessie Kyle, would you?” Darcy says heatedly, glaring at Miles. Jessie flinches and curls into Miles.

“Dammit Darcy,” Alex says, reaching across the table to flick Darcy on the forehead.

Darcy winces, just clueing into her words. “Fuck, sorry, Jessie. You know my brain takes some time to catch up with my mouth sometimes.” Darcy leans over apologetically.

Jessie waves a shaky hand. “No worries, Darce. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” Steve is very confused.

“You have a really nice voice,” Steve says, then turns bright red. The table goes silent and then erupts into laughter and teasing.

“Aw, Steve’s got a crush!” Alex sing-songs.

“You making moves on my girl, Robertson?” Miles threatens playfully. Jessie just blushes and thanks him softly.

“Reminds me of my mom,” Steve says - he was not wistful, thank you very much - and the tone of his voice brings down the mood significantly.

“How long ago did she pass?” Miles asks quietly.

“It’s been a long time,” Steve says truthfully. “But it never really gets any easier.”

“No, it doesn’t, does it?” Miles says, a moment of understanding passing between them. The tense moment is broken when a bag slams down on the empty chair next to Steve, startling him. He jerks up, his chair screeching back, and the glass of water in front of him spills all over the table. Darcy curses and yanks her textbook away just in time, Miles and Jessie jump out of their chairs and Alex nearly falls out of their chair when Steve removes his shoulder from under their head. The cafe goes silent.

“Sorry, everybody, my bad!” Steve calls, waving apologetically. He sits back down, breathing hard.

“Jake, what the fuck bro, we’ve talked about this!” Alex hisses. Steve focuses on slowing his heart rate, clenching his left fist every few seconds. He grabs a bunch of napkins and cleans up the spilled water with his other hand.

“Sorry, didn’t realize we had a newbie around.” Whoever’s talking doesn’t sound very sorry. “What’s his deal, anyway?”

Nobody answers and Steve realizes it’s up to him. Not looking up from the table, he says, “My deal is I was in the army for a few years, and it left me with some bad associations. Surprises, the cold, and sudden touching aren’t a good idea for me.” He mops up the rest of the water and takes the sodden napkins to the recycle, coming back in the middle of a hissed lecture to Jake by Darcy. He sits down and the table goes silent again. Steve sighs. “It’s no big deal, guys, really. Reactions like that happen every once in a while. I’m not dangerous.” He thinks for a moment, then amends his statement. “Well, not to you guys anyway.” He tries to lighten the mood. “These muscles aren’t just for show, ya know.” He flexes his arms and his shirt stretches over his chest.

Jake sucks in a breath, and the rest of the table bursts into laughter. “Oh, you better run Steve,” Miles teases.

“That’s Jake’s seduction look. No man has ever managed to resist,” Jessie says mysteriously, giggling.

“Even the straight ones,” Alex says, raising an eyebrow.

Steve shrugs, smiling slightly. He turns to Jake and takes his hand, looking him in the eye seriously. “Sorry doll, my heart belongs to another.” He kisses the top of Jake’s hand lightly and puts it back down. Everyone’s watching them with wide eyes and Jessie’s fanning herself.

“I am ruined for other men forever,” Jake declares, kicking off a fresh bout of laughter. “No, seriously, guys. He called me doll and kissed my hand! I am swooning!” Jake dramatically falls into Steve’s lap, peeking one eye open to see Steve’s reaction. Steve looks at him, unimpressed.

Darcy snorts at the look on Steve’s face then checks the time. “Oh fuck! We have ten minutes until class starts and International Politics is way too far!” She starts shoving stuff in her bag.

“Darcy, Steve has that too. Mind if he goes with you?” Alex asks. Darcy waves her hand, still packing her bag. “She’ll give you all our numbers and we can exchange schedules later, kay?” Alex shoves Steve after Darcy.

“There’s no way we can make it in time, Steve! It’s only the first day, I don’t wanna be those students!” Darcy frets.

Steve steps in front of her and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Darce, it’ll be okay. Here, hop on my back and I’ll run us there.”

“No way, you can’t carry me and both our stuff, it’ll be too -” Darcy yelps as Steve scoops her onto his back and starts running. He books it across campus, dodging and weaving through the various crowds of people, and at one point he even jumps over a bench. He skids to a stop in front of their classroom, barely out of breath, and helps Darcy fix her hair, pulling a hair tie out of his bag - one of several given to him by Natasha with the words, “You’ll save some poor girl’s life, Steve,” - and handing it to her.

“Decent?” Darcy asks, spreading her hands. Steve gives her a quick look and nods, and they head into the classroom with five minutes to spare. International Politics goes much the same way as Postwar did; with the first class spent going over the syllabus and next’s week’s readings. Steve can’t stay to chat with Darcy afterwards as his ‘Gender and Sexuality in US History’ class is immediately afterwards and a few buildings away, so he bids her goodbye. He only realizes after she’s left that he didn’t get any numbers or schedules from her.  

Luckily, he spots Jessie on the way over and jogs up to her, falling into step beside her. Steve keeps some space in between them as they greet each other, and the remainder of the walk is spent in comfortable silence. They arrive at the near-empty classroom and Steve looks around, wondering if they’re in the right room.

A soft giggle directs his attention towards Jessie. “We’re in the right room, I swear. This class is never all that full because the professor is a little odd, and a lot of people don’t really like the way the course is taught.”

“I don’t think that should matter,” Steve responds, picking a random seat. “We’re not here for the professor, we’re here to learn. Shouldn’t that take priority?”

“I completely agree, Mr.?”

Steve’s head snaps up and the tips of his ears turn pink. “Robertson. Steve Robertson.”

The professor nods and turns to Jessie. “Jessie, my dear. Good to see you again. Love the skirt.” Jessie blushes and murmurs a thank you and the professor heads to the front of the classroom. “My name is Professor Jonah Redall but call me Jonah. He/him pronouns, and yes, my nails are painted green.” Steve hadn’t noticed, but the colour suits him. “This is Gender and Sexuality in US History, so if you’re in the wrong room, scram.”

A small “Oh, fuck,” comes from the back of the room and someone grabs their shit and races out of the room.

Jonah grins wickedly. “There’s always one. I see we have a full house this year, a whole eight students.” Steve looks around, and yes, there are in fact only nine people in the room. “So, each week will be dedicated to a different topic. This week is the introduction, next week we discuss transgender people and how they’ve been treated throughout US history.” Jessie shifts beside Steve.

“Are you qualified to discuss topics like that?” Someone asks from the back of the room.

“Absolutely!” Jonah says, “I got my doctorate in Gender Studies from right here at NYU, and I have firsthand experience with people of the transgender community.”

“Like who?” The same voice challenges.

Jonah raises an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to identify people who may not be out yet because it could put them in danger?” The voice is silent. “That’s what I thought. As I was saying, this course will touch on many topics, from what it’s like to be a transgender person in the United States, all the way to the obsession our society has with sex and how that impacts every member of the LGBTQ+ community.”

Steve is entranced by the rest of the lecture, furiously taking notes and asking questions. When the class is over, Steve walks out with Jessie silently, in awe of how much has changed since he went down.

“I can give you everyone’s number, if you want,” Jessie offers. “And we have a group chat too, I’ll add you to that as well.” Steve nods and gives her his phone. She adds in everyone’s numbers and gives it back to him. “It looks like you have at least one class with all of us,” Jessie says, having seen his schedule.

“Really?” Steve says, “Even American Sign Language?”

Jessie nods. “Miles’ sister is deaf, so they have been wanting to take an actual course since they were little.”

“And that leaves Introduction to Psychology with Jake,” Steve says, not sure how he feels about that.

Jessie laughs at the look on his face. “He grows on you, I promise. The way he was acting today is just how he acts around new people.”

Steve shrugs, not minding a challenging friendship. “I’ve got no more class today, you?”

Jessie sighs. “I’ve got one more; English Lit.” She makes a face.

“Don’t like it?” Steve asks.

“It’s not that,” Jessie sighs, “The prof is a real ass. He deadnames me all the time and constantly uses the wrong pronouns.”

“Deadnames?” Steve says cautiously.

“I’m a trans woman, Steve,” Jessie says shortly.

“Okay,” Steve says, “I’m not sure why that means he gets to be a dick to you.” Jessie blinks at him. Steve shrugs. “People are people. Who am I to judge your experience?”

Jessie grins. “Anyway, I was born under a different name and the prof is an old friend of my parents. So he knows that my name is Jessie, but refuses to call me that.” She snorts. “Bet he wouldn’t take it so well if I started calling him Samantha.”

“I can come to sit with you if you want. I have nothing else to do today, and I don’t mind.” Steve offers.

Jessie shakes her head. “It’s alright, he’ll just start to treat you like shit too.”

Steve grins wickedly. “People tend to think twice when faced with all this.” He gestures to his body, well aware he’s built like a brick shithouse. “And besides, I can give it as good as I get it.” Jessie bites her lip, considering it. “C’mon, Jessie. Let me help you out. What else are friends for?” He bumps her shoulder and she grins.

“Fine,” she says, “But you have to promise not to get me kicked out.”

Steve grins. “Deal.”

~~~~~~

“That was fucking hilarious!” Jessie says, spilling out into the hallway laughing. “Did you see his face? He turned purple, Steve. Purple!” She cackles wildly.

Steve grins. “I’m glad I was able to help. And I don’t think he’ll be dead-naming you anymore.” Jessie throws herself at him and Steve catches her, holding her tightly.

“Steve, seriously,” Jessie says, muffled into his shoulder, “You have no idea what this means to me.”

Steve turns pink. “I just did what anyone else would do,” he says, putting her down carefully. She grins at him and he wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, Robertson!” A familiar voice calls out to them and Steve turns around. “This is the second time today I’ve caught you makin’ moves on my girl! What’s it gonna take man?” Miles runs up to them and steals Jessie out from under his arm, making her squeal with laughter.

“What, Ramone?” Steve challenges, grinning, “Afraid of a little friendly competition?”

“Why, you little -” Miles lunges at him and Steve sidesteps them neatly, feigning a yawn. “C’mere, punk!” Steve freezes and the next thing he knows, he’s on his ass on the pavement, a throbbing sensation on his jaw.

“Ow,” he says intelligently, massaging the spot.

“Fuck, Steve, are you alright?” Miles and Jessie both drop to their knees beside him, worry lining their faces. “Man, I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean too! I thought you were gonna dodge and I put way too much force into that.”

“Hey, Miles, it’s alright,” Steve soothes, “Totally my bad, yeah? You just caught me by surprise when you called me punk. My best friend used to call me that before -” Steve swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head, refocusing. “Seriously, no biggie.” He assures Miles, clapping them on the shoulder. Jessie’s hands flutter over Steve’s face and he gives her a reassuring smile.

“Are you sure? I feel terrible, man!” Miles looks distraught and Steve smiles.

“I’m sure,” Steve shrugs, “No harm, no foul. ‘Sides, if it bruises, the bruise’ll be gone tomorrow. I heal fast.” Seeing the look on Miles’ face, he adds, “If it makes you feel better, you can buy me a donut from the cafe.”

Miles’ shoulders slump. “If you insist,” He sighs.

Steve grins. “Oh, I insist. You hit me right in the moneymaker, pal!” He stands up, pulls Miles into a headlock and gives them a noogie, ignoring their shouts of outrage.

“Fine, fine! I’ll buy your stupid donut, asshole,” Miles grumbles. Jessie breathes a sigh of relief and wraps her arms around their waists.

“Friends, what am I going to do with you?” She asks fondly.

“Lots of kisses?” says Miles.

Steve scrunches his nose. “More hugs than you give Miles?” Miles squawks in outrage again and Jessie laughs. Miles and Steve poke fun at each other all the way to the cafe where Miles does indeed buy Steve a chocolate donut. “I dunno if I can eat this, Miles, my face hurts a lot,” Steve grins as Miles throws a balled up napkin at him.

“Shaddap, you loser,” Miles says, grinning. The three of them are sitting at a table, tucked away in the corner laughing when Alex, Darcy and Jake show up.

“Holy shit, what happened to your face, Steve?” Alex cries.

“Not the face! It’s his best quality!” Jake yells, surprising a laugh out of Steve.

“I have an ice pack if you want it.” Darcy offers, already digging through her bag.

Steve is overcome with emotion at the sight of these people caring for him. He swallows it down and grins. “You should see the other guy,” he winks.

“What happened?” Alex asks.

“Some little twerp tried to hit me so I let him get in a lucky punch,” Steve says casually, hooking his arm over the back of Jake’s chair.

“You fucker!” Miles cries. “That punch was full of skill!” Steve snickers, then breaks out into full-on laughter when Alex, Darcy, and Jake all turn and start yelling at Miles. He sits back and watches as the yelling devolves into a tickle fight. An elbow to his stomach knocks the breath out of him and he grunts.

“Hey, hey!” He cries, grabbing their attention. “Haven’t I been through enough abuse today?” Jake boos at him and Miles throws another napkin. “Alright, alright, I get it!” Steve says, hands up to ward off any further attacks.

Jessie grins. “Tell them what you did to Professor Asshat, Steve!”

Steve grins bashfully. “Aw, it was nothing. Just glad I could help.”

“It was not nothing,” Jessie argues, “He got the dick to stop deadnaming me and to use my proper pronouns! And he made him turn purple, all in the span of an hour and a half long lecture!” The table breaks out into applause that turns into jeers when Steve blushes. Jessie tells the story of what he did animatedly, gesturing wildly and at one point, even getting up to imitate the prof at his purplest. The time flies and before Steve knows it, he has to leave.

He gets up and starts to pack up his bag. “Steve, you leaving?” Alex asks.

“Yeah, it’s my turn to cook dinner tonight and if I don’t my roommate will just eat week-old pizza again.” Clint will do nothing of the sort, but tonight’s the night Natasha gets home from her mission and Steve has missed her too much to not see her. Steve rolls his eyes convincingly.

“C’mere, man,” Miles says, yanking him into a hug. Miles is nearly as tall as him, so when they mutter, “Thank you,” Steve hears it perfectly. They release each other and Miles pats him on the face, right on top of where they punched him.

“Fucker,” Steve grumbles, wincing. Miles grins. Steve walks around the table and pulls Jessie and Darcy into a hug, squeezing them tightly. He plops a kiss on Jake’s cheek, just to mess with him, and Alex holds out their fist so Steve bumps it with his. “Later, folks. See you soon, yeah?” Steve waves goodbye and walks to the door, turning back when he gets there and feeling his chest fill with warmth at the sight of them. He smiles softly and starts the walk home.

~~~~~~

Steve is humming to himself tunelessly, keeping one eye on the food in the oven and the other on the door. He wasn’t planning on cooking, but when he said that he was going to, he felt like he should. He’s not doing anything crazy, just chicken and veggies with brownies for dessert. Clint snoring on the couch as he was when Steve got home, the only difference between then and now is that Steve pulled a blanket over him.

Natasha isn’t back yet, but Steve knows she has to debrief and do paperwork, and as much as she bitches about it, he knows she takes her job seriously. He keeps humming to himself quietly, watching Clint sleep to pass the time.

The archer looks so different when he’s asleep. All the stress lines are gone from his face, his mouth is slack… Steve could watch Clint sleep for hours. And Clint doesn’t have that thing that tells him when he’s being watched like Natasha does, so Steve could watch him sleep and Clint would be none the wiser.

The man of Steve’s thoughts smacks his lips and rolls over - and promptly falls off the couch. Steve snickers. “Aw, couch, no,” He hears faintly.

“You okay down there, Amazing Hawkeye?” He asks, pulling the chicken out. There’s no response so he shrugs and flips the chicken.

“When did you get home?” Clint asks. Steve turns around to see him fiddling with his ear and yawning.

“Couple hours ago. I’m making dinner. You sleep okay?” Steve grins when he sees the lines of the couch pressed into Clint’s cheek. He starts the machine on Clint’s normal coffee.

“Shaddap, Steve.” Clint grumbles. He cracks his back, then wraps the blanket around him and shuffles over to the kitchen, plopping down on a stool and watching Steve cook. “Slept fine, hungry though.”

“Well, you have to wait to have dinner with me an’ Natasha when she gets here, and then there’s dessert and a movie, but after that, you can go to bed,” Steve says. He starts to set the table.

Clint yawns again and sways in his chair. His coffee finishes, so Steve pours it into a mug and pushes it into Clint’s hands gently. “Thanks, Steve. You’re the best.” Clint mutters, still half-asleep. The tips of Steve’s ear turn pink as he turns away. Clint drinks his coffee in a comfortable silence, neither of them feeling the need to fill the silence with words.

Steve turns around for a few minutes, occupied with the vegetables, and when he turns back around, Natasha is toeing off her shoes at the front door. Steve opens his mouth to say hi, but she shakes her head at him, eyes sparkling with mischief. She pads up behind Clint silently, waits until he takes a sip of his coffee, then says, “Hello.”

Clint spews his coffee all over the counter and Steve bursts into laughter. “What the fuck, Tasha?” Clint complains, although he’s smiling too.

Natasha shrugs. “I saw an opportunity.” She ruffles Clint’s hair and gives Steve’s bicep an affectionate squeeze as she grabs some paper towel to mop up Clint’s mess. “How was school, Steve?”

Steve grins. “I like all my classes, even though we didn’t do much. And I made some new friends.”

“Was it one of these friends that punched you in the face?” Natasha says, eyebrow raised.

Steve falters. “Yeah, but it was my fault really. I started it.”

“What happened?” Clint says, suddenly fully awake.

Steve sighs as Natasha walks up to him and takes his chin in her hand. He lets her check him over as he answers Clint. “I was giving their girl a hug after one of her classes - I helped her out with an asshole professor - and they saw, so I started ribbing them. They called me punk, and I froze. They landed the hit and knocked me on my ass.” Steve chuckles ruefully. “Never thought I’d see the day I get knocked on my ass by some mook with no training.” Natasha releases his face and clucks her tongue.

“It will heal.” She says, patting his cheek.

“So there’s no hard feelings?” Clint presses.

“No, Dad,” Steve grins, “We’re fine, I’m fine, it’s all fine.” He checks the time on the food then turns to Natasha and says, “You want to shower while the food cooks the rest of the way? I know you like a hot shower after a long mission.” She blinks but doesn’t respond, so Steve shoos her in the direction of the bathroom. “Left clothes in there for you, take your time.”

He hustles back to the kitchen and smacks Clint’s hand’s away from the oven. “Ow!” Clint complains.

“No touching, you go sit over there and drink your coffee.” Steve scolds, ushering Clint back to his seat.

“Fine, bossy,” Clint grumbles. Steve clicks his tongue and snaps Clint with a dishtowel, relishing in his yelp. The shower turns on and Steve does a mental calculation. He makes a few adjustments so that the food will be ready right when Natasha gets out of the shower.

Steve leans against the counter while he waits for the food to be done, sharing the silence with Clint. “Steve?” Clint’s voice breaks the silence.

“What’s up?” Steve turns fully to face him, still leaning on the counter.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Clint says, gesturing to the kitchen. “We would’ve been fine with takeout.”

“You would have been fine with takeout, Clint.” Natasha re-enters the room, still towel-drying her hair and dressed in leggings and a long t-shirt with the peace sign on it. “I am much happier with a home-cooked meal, so be quiet and say thank you.”

“Which is it? Do you want me to be quiet, or to say thank you?” Clint says, grinning. Natasha hits him with her towel in the exact same spot Steve hit him earlier and Clint yelps again. Steve watches the two of them fondly, arms crossed over his chest. The timer dings so he breaks up their playfight and directs them to the table. He pulls the food out of the oven and serves it, sitting down at the table with a smile.

“Dig in!” He says grandly, waving his arm. Clint snickers and Natasha simply raises an eyebrow, but they both start eating.

Dinner passes without incident, and when they’re done, Clint leans back and says, “If I was wearing pants that had buttons, I would pop them.” Steve snorts.

“That was quite good,” says Natasha, “Thank you, Steve.” Steve blushes and clears the table quickly, brushing off their offers to help.

He finishes in record time and joins them on the couch. Natasha curls up to him immediately, tucking her feet under his thighs as she normally does. Clint stays on his side of the couch, but Steve knows he’ll gravitate toward them as the movie progresses. Ten minutes into the movie, Clint is laid out flat, head on Steve’s thigh and Natasha’s hand in his hair.

Natasha’s other hand is twirling the little hairs at the back of Steve’s neck, and the feeling soothes him. He drifts for a little while, jerking to alertness when there’s a pounding on the door. “We expecting anyone?” He asks, nudging Clint.

Natasha shakes her head and untangles herself from Steve gracefully, heading to the door. She pulls it open and her face does this weird thing Steve’s never seen before. She almost looks… annoyed?

“Wow, you got a nice place here, _Natashlie_. Did you kill the owner and steal the deed?” Steve does a double-take as someone who looks eerily like Howard Stark walks in.

Clint snorts. “Yep, she killed me. I am so dead. Bleh.” He crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue. Steve snickers.

“Oh look, it’s your better half. I assume, anyway. Who’s tall, blond and Dorito-shaped?” The man circles Steve, eyeing him up and down.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Because you don’t know who I am.”

The man snorts, then looks upset that Steve managed to make him laugh. “Y’know, I thought the man my father had a science-boner for would be taller.”

Steve crosses his arms, the man’s identity finally clicking. “And I never thought Howard would grow a pair and manage to settle down. But here we are.”

The man smirks. “Tony. Stark.”

“Steve Rogers. You here for a reason?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, just thought I’d stop by, see how the resident elder is doing.” Stark gives a little yelp as Steve picks him up and puts him outside the door.

“Next time, make an appointment,” Steve says, firmly shutting the door. He turns around to be met with open mouths and shocked expressions from Clint and Nat. “What?”

“Note to self,” Clint says, yawning. He grabs Steve’s arm and drags him back to the couch, pushing him down and resuming his position laying on Steve’s leg. “Steve Rogers: stone-cold badass.”

Nat tucks her feet under Steve’s thigh again and plays the movie. Someone starts pounding on the door. Clint turns down his hearing aids and closes his eyes, Natasha rolls her eyes and snuggles further into Steve - but don’t let her know that Steve thinks she’s snuggling or she will stab him - and Steve sighs. He turns up the movie until it drowns out the pounding on the door.

That works. For approximately one minute. Then Steve’s phone buzzes. Four times. Consecutively. He turns it off and settles back into the couch.

Clint’s phone buzzes. Steve turns that off too. Then Natasha’s phone buzzes, and when Steve goes to grab it, she snatches it away from him and looks at it. Then she rolls her eyes - again, holy shit, Stark must _really_ get on her nerves - and goes to answer the door. She pulls it open, pulls Stark inside and shuts the door firmly behind him.

“I don’t like being kept waiting,” Stark says, shoving his phone into his back pocket.

Steve crosses his arms, annoyed. “And I don’t like being interrupted or _monitored_ when I’m trying to enjoy my night. So, I’ll repeat myself. What do you want?”

Stark eyes him speculatively. “Well, when Natashlie here was spying on me for our not-so-benevolent overlords at SHIELD, I may have placed a program on her phone that gave me access to the SHIELD servers, which is where incidentally, I found that they had pulled you out of the ocean, thawed you, and not bothered to notify me, who as your legal next of kin should have been notified that they had found your remains. The plans they had for your dead body were rather disturbing, to say the least.”

Steve’s eyebrow ticks up. He knew SHIELD had pulled him out, but he had assumed they knew he was still alive when they did. It’s not surprising that his body would have been turned into a lab rat. “Yeah, well,” Steve scoffs, “It’s the government. Not much has changed in 70 years.”

Stark snorts. “Don’t make me laugh, I’m not supposed to like you.” He pulls his phone out again and pokes around for a few seconds, then hands it to Steve. “You weren’t the only thing SHIELD pulled out of the depths, Capsicle.”

Steve looks at the screen, and it takes him a couple seconds to process. His eyes widen with horror before he can stop them, and he looks up at Stark with wide eyes. “Please tell me they didn’t.”

“Not yet,” Stark says, “But they’re close to figuring it out. You didn’t know?”

Steve shakes his head, mind racing. “Only contact I have with SHIELD is when they send an agent over here to make sure I haven’t tried to kill myself again.” Stark does a double-take, then shakes his head. “We have to stop this,” Steve decides. He enters his number into the phone and sends himself the documents.

“Stop what? What does SHIELD have?” Natasha asks, visibly - at least to Steve - frustrated that she has no idea what they’re talking about.

“What she said,” Clint adds, turning his volume back on.

“You can’t tell them,” Stark says before Steve can open his mouth. “They work for SHIELD, and the mission always comes first for them.”

Steve looks at Stark. “I trust them.” He says simply, ignoring the way Clint straightens up and Natasha blinks slowly at his words. “When I crashed the Valkyrie, it was minutes after the Tesseract had burned a hole through the hull. It’s no wonder that they found it near me.”

Tony winces. “Actually, my dear old dad found it a month or so after you went down. He hid it from the authorities and locked it deep in a vault for him to study. I inherited it when he died but I didn’t care.” He shrugs apologetically. “SHIELD must have gotten it somehow."

“The Tesseract?” Clint asks.

“The energy source for all of Hydra’s weapons in the war.” Steve answers. Clint sucks in a breath. “I hoped it was lost. No such luck, I guess. SHIELD has it now?” Stark nods.

“I can ask our handler if he knows anything about it,” Clint offers.

Stark is shaking his head before Clint even finishes speaking. “No. We can’t trust anyone there.”

Clint’s head snaps up and his eyes burn defiantly. “We can trust him.”

Steve cuts in before it can turn into a fight. “Enough. You’re both right. Clint, ask him if he’s willing to look around for us. He has higher clearance than us anyway.” Clint nods sharply, moving to leave. Steve grabs his arm. “Make sure he doesn’t know.” Clint searches his face and whatever he sees must soothe him, because his shoulders relax. He nods and heads into his room, probably to call Coulson.

“Are you sure?” Stark says, holding Steve’s gaze.

Steve nods. “There are four people alive right now that I trust. Their handler is one of them.”

Stark sighs. “Fine, but if this backfires I’m blaming you.”

Steve shrugs. “Fine. Natasha.” Her eyes cut over to him and he can see the tenseness in her body. He wants to comfort her, but he knows she would not like her weaknesses shown in front of Stark. “Next time you go in, find us information. Don’t be shy.” A glint passes through her eyes and she nods. Steve turns to Stark. “In a couple days, you’ll get a call from someone at SHIELD. I take it you’re not the type to go running when SHIELD calls?” Tony grins like a shark and shakes his head. Steve sighs. “Fine. Answer it and put up a fight about what they ask you, but say yes.  Feel free to negotiate. You are free to ask for anything but Clint, Natasha and Coulson. When you come in, you don’t know I’m alive and you’re bitter.”

Stark grins. “Shouldn’t be a problem. I am bitter.” Steve catalogues Tony Stark in his mind, running through everything he’s read, both online and from SHIELD. He nods.

“Good. Use it.” Steve sighs and rolls his shoulders. “Until then, no contact between us. Whatever SHIELD’s doing with the Tesseract…” He trails off, eyes glazing over. He snaps back to himself when Natasha shifts and bumps a chair, the screech of wood on tile snapping him out of it. “It can’t be good. Nothing good came out of that thing in the war, and I don’t see any reason why it would be different now.” Stark nods and moves to leave, but Steve stops him. Natasha eyes the two of them and gets off her chair gracefully, walking away and slipping into Clint’s room.

“Something else, Capsicle?” Tony raises an eyebrow.

“You said you were my next of kin,” Steve says, his question clear.

“When you went under, Pops had it changed from the Barnes’. Claimed there was some distant relation. He didn’t stop to consider how you would have felt about it, but then again, feelings never really mattered to dear old dad.” Tony shrugs. “When I went digging around, I saw that it had never been changed back. If you had died when you went down, I likely never would have known they even found your body.”

Steve nods. “Thanks for reaching out.” Tony shrugs, uncomfortable with the genuine emotion Steve is expressing. He goes to leave, but once again, Steve stops him. “You know, Tony…” Tony looks apprehensive. “You’re nothing like your father.”

Tony blinks. Then he grins widely. “It would have killed him to hear that.”

Steve smirks right back at him. “I know.” This time when Tony goes to leave, Steve doesn’t stop him. The door closes, and Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Coulson’s onboard,” Clint says from behind him. “He didn’t know. Guess Fury didn’t think he would go along with it.” Steve’s shoulders relax a fraction more.

Then he’s being guided to the sofa and pushed into sitting on it. Natasha resumes her curled-up position and tucks her feet underneath his thigh, but Clint stays standing. He starts pacing around the room. “I can’t believe they found the Tesseract. That thing should have been shot into the sun the moment Howard Stark pulled it out of the ocean.”

Natasha hums quietly, her only sign of agreement.

Steve slumps over, elbows on his knees and hands on his face. Staring at the floor blankly, he says, “When I crashed the Valkyrie, I had just lost the most important person in my life. I was at peace with knowing that my death would save millions of people’s lives.” Clint’s pacing stutters and Natasha’s toes curl. “I was fine with never waking up. I wasn’t expecting to wake up. Hell, I didn’t _want_ to wake up.” Natasha’s feet are pulled out from under his legs and Steve looks up.

Clint walks over to him and sits beside him, hand on his back. “We don’t judge, Steve. You know that.” Natasha doesn’t say anything, but the hand she puts on his thigh says more than words ever could.

Steve buries his head in his hands. The Tesseract was never supposed to be found. After what it did to Schmidt, Steve had half hoped it had shattered from the cold once it hit the water. But with his luck, he’s not surprised it’s popped up again.

The three of them sit in silence for a while, connected only by Natasha’s hand on Steve’s thigh and Clint’s hand on his back. The two points of contact keep him grounded, and it hits Steve suddenly how grateful he is to have these two people in his life.

Clint suddenly leans on his arm, and when Steve looks up, Clint is trying to stifle a yawn. Steve chuckles and shakes his head. “Go to bed, you putz,” he says, ushering Clint towards his room. He pulls Natasha up from the couch gently, pulling her into a quick hug and releasing her in the direction of his room. “Stay the night, Natasha. I don’t want to send you home this late.”

She nods, squeezes his hand and glides into Clint’s room silently, the door closing behind her with a soft _click_. Steve gazes after her for a moment before snapping out of it and straightening out the living room, fluffing pillows and straightening the table from where he pushed it away to have room to stretch out his legs fully.

After a few minutes, he’s finished so he heads into his room. He leaves his door open a crack and tells himself it’s so he can hear if someone comes into the apartment. Steve lays in bed and stares at the ceiling for a while (one hour seventeen minutes thirty-four seconds), then falls asleep.

He dreams of glowing blue light and unearthly screams and bloody footprints. He wakes up grateful that his eidetic memory doesn’t extend to dreams.

~~~~~~

Three days later, Steve walks into SHIELD. Coulson meets him just past security and the two walk to the meeting room together, making small talk. “Are you liking living with Agent Barton? He hasn’t scared you away from SHIELD, has he?” Coulson asks, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

“No, not quite yet,” Steve says wryly. “It’s been an adjustment for sure.” He widens his eyes and looks at Coulson. “There’s so much of everything now!” Coulson isn’t fooled for a minute, and Steve knows that. But he must keep up pretenses. Besides, playing the ‘aw, shucks’ version of Captain America is amusing.

History seems to have forgotten that before he was Captain America, he was just a scrappy kid from Brooklyn with a shitload of health problems. The serum didn’t just give him muscles, it healed him and sped up his brain. People see the muscles and forget that he has a brain, too.

“Well, here we are,” Coulson says, gesturing towards a nondescript conference room. “Someone should be with you momentarily.” Steve walks into the room and moves over to the window, staring out at New York.

“Great view, isn’t it?” Steve doesn’t flinch at Nick Fury’s attempt to startle him and gain the upper hand.

Steve shrugs. “View from my old apartment in Brooklyn was better.” He turns to face Fury and nods at him. “Sir.”

“Captain.” Fury braces his hands on the table and stares. “Why did you ask to see me?” 

Steve wastes no time. “I heard that Howard had a son. I want to meet him, see if he’s anything like his father.”

Fury snorts. “Anthony Stark is nothing like his father. He was a weapons dealer who didn’t care where his weapons sold, and he has the blood of thousands on his hands. He refuses to work with us.”

“I notice you said _was_ a weapons dealer, Sir,” Steve says carefully.

“Switched to clean energy to appease his guilty conscience.” A gleam enters Fury’s eye and Steve smirks internally. “You think you could convince him? Maybe his dad’s old friend and war buddy could change his mind.”

Steve pretends to think it over. “I don’t know, sir, it seems kind of dishonest to trick a man like that.”

A flash of something crosses Fury’s face - distaste, maybe, that Steve is every bit as squeaky-clean as history made him out to be. “Trust me, Captain. Five minutes alone with Stark and you’ll be begging me to trick him.”

Steve nods sharply. “I’d like to meet him, if you don’t mind. Decide for myself.” He waits a beat, then, “Sir.”

Fury considers it for a few seconds, the silence stretching out. “I’ll make a call, but don’t be surprised if it takes a while. Stark isn’t in the habit of listening to us.”

“Noted, sir. Anything specific you’d like me to say?” Steve raises an eyebrow slightly.

“Maybe at the second meeting,” Fury says. He turns around and walks away, coattails flapping behind him. “Dismissed, Captain Rogers.”

“Sir.” Steve nods respectfully at Fury’s back and waits a full five seconds before relaxing his stance and cracking his neck.

Coulson walks back into the room. “Ready to go, Captain Rogers? I can escort you out.”

Steve gives him a bashful smile. “Thanks, Agent Coulson. This building is like a maze!” The two men walk silently towards the exit, stopping only to shake hands before Steve walks out the door. He walks in the general direction of Clint’s apartment, making it four blocks before he pulls his hand out of his pocket and looks at the small black thumb drive Coulson had slipped him. Steve grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Comments? Concerns? Chapter Three: Breathe will be uploaded on April 11, 2019! See ya then!


	3. Chapter Three: Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve comes to a realization, and we earn our explicit rating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! So, here's chapter three. I'm actually really proud of this chapter, for a couple reasons. Hope you enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: There is an explicit sex scene in this chapter. If you want to skip the explicitness, stop reading at 'Steve didn't know what to do with his hands.' and start again at '...and the smile remains on his face until morning.'

**Chapter Three - Breathe**

Steve has to mentally prepare himself for the meeting with Tony. When he met the man, there was almost a moment where he took the bait and said some things he wouldn’t have been able to take back. Given time - lots of time - Steve thinks him and Tony could become friends. Good friends.

“Let’s make this snappy,” Stark says, strutting into the room. “I’ve got places to be, things to see, and people to do.” 

But that’s only if Steve doesn’t strangle him first. He suppresses the eye roll he so badly wants to do and straightens his posture. “Mr. Stark.” He says, voice betraying nothing.

To Tony’s credit, he actually looks believably shocked when he turns around. Part of that could be that Steve never actually told him what the meeting was about, but most of it is the fact that Tony was raised in the public eye and has had too much practice hiding how he truly feels and manipulating how other people feel about him.

“So, you’re the mystery guest,” Stark says dryly. “No wonder they swept me four times for bugs, had me go through three different sets of metal detectors, and patted me down when I entered the building.” He scoffs. “As if anything I built would be so easily discovered.”

Steve apologizes silently. “You remind me of your father,” he says. He plays up the ‘sad old friend’ act, letting his eyes glaze over slightly.

Tony jerks minutely. Steve blinks twice. “That’s truer than you know.” He pulls out a chair and it screeches across the floor. Steve winces before he can stop himself.

“I have some stories,” Steve offers, “If you want to hear them.”

Stark scoffs. “I don’t want to hear your stories, Capsicle.” He pulls out his phone and scrolls through it, not looking at Steve. “The only reason I’m here is because someone told Pepper you were here and she thought this would be ‘good for me’ and that we could ‘bond’.” He shakes his head. He looks up and stares Steve directly in the eye. “Why would I want to bond with you? You’re a fossil who knew my jackass of a dad and is just desperate to find some semblance of something familiar so you can pretend you’re okay. Pass.”

Steve manages to not react to Stark’s words, but it’s a close thing. “I think we’re done here.” His voice comes out strained, and for once, he’s grateful that his voice betrays his feelings sometimes. 

“Great!” Stark pops off the chair and shoves it back under the table. It screeches again. “See you never, Cap.” He finger-salutes him and heads out the door, staring at his phone. Steve sits in silence for a few minutes, clenching and unclenching his fists. He carefully boxes up his thoughts and puts a lock on it, tucking the key away in some dusty corner of his mind.

“That went about as well as I expected.” Nick Fury strides into the room, coat billowing behind him. 

“How did Howard have  _ that _ as a son?” Steve says through his teeth. He knows the vein on his neck is sticking out. 

“You read his file, correct?” Steve nods. “He was raised to want the limelight. Stark’s a narcissist. He believes he knows better than everyone and he’ll never admit he’s wrong. Even at the cost of lives."

Steve grinds his teeth. “I would like to request the rest of the day off. Sir.” His voice is measured and there’s no trace of what he’s feeling.

“Granted. And Captain?” Steve pauses on his way out. “We may have to work with Stark again. I suggest growing a thicker skin.” Steve nods sharply and marches out of the room, keeping his face neutral and his body language calm until he is on his bike back to Clint’s apartment. Even then, he keeps the change in expression small, just a furrowing of the eyebrows.

He walks up the stairs and enters the apartment to find both Clint and Natasha waiting in the kitchen, their voices a low murmur that falls silent when they hear the door click. Clint opens his mouth, presumably to ask how it went, but Steve just holds up a hand and heads to his room, closing the door firmly behind him. 

Steve unlocks the box and falls to his knees. His thoughts are spiralling into an abyss that’s as cold and unfeeling as the ice was. Steve hasn’t told anyone that he remembers drowning and freezing after he crashed the Valkyrie. Not Clint or Natasha, not the eight doctors who asked him hundreds of dizzying questions once they brought him back from Times Square, and not his therapist.

The way he’s breathing now is similar to how he breathed then. Harsh, jerky breaths that hurt when they enter his chest. His fingers and toes were the first to freeze then, followed by his arms and his legs and his torso, leaving him immobilized. Steve remembers hearing his heartbeat slowing down and his vision went fuzzy. He remembers his last thought being a sharp feeling of relief, no words. Just relief that he didn’t have to fight anymore, relief that he would be with Bucky again. Although that sharp feeling could have been the iron bar through his shoulder. 

He’s not ashamed of what he did. He just wishes he didn’t have to relive it every night.

Nobody ever talks about how much dying hurts.

A hand on his shoulder startles him and he grabs it and flips the owner, slamming them down in front of him. They don’t move again. Steve spirals some more before being abruptly shocked out of it when his head jerks to the side and his cheek starts burning. The sound of a slap echoes through the room moments later and Steve clutches his cheek and stares at Natasha. “Snap out of it. Breathe.” Her voice is unforgiving and Steve finds himself following her orders without question.

He breathes deeply and quietly for a few seconds, before abruptly clueing in that he’s holding someone’s wrist in his hand. He lets go and scrambles back, horror dawning as he realized that the person he flipped was Clint, who’s now sitting up and rubbing his tailbone. “Clint, I am so sorry, I didn’t realize, I -”

Clint cuts him off by raising a hand. “Steve,” He says gently, “It’s okay. I’ve had worse, and it wasn’t your fault.” 

Steve’s breaths are getting shaky again. “Breathe.” Orders Natasha, grabbing his chin. She forces him to look into her eyes. He can feel her heart beating through her fingertips and he consciously matches his heart to hers. They spend a few minutes like that until Steve is slightly calmer, although he still jerks when Clint puts a hand on his arm.

“Couch. Movie. Blankets.” Natasha says. She releases his chin and walks out of his room, leaving Steve there with Clint. 

Steve starts to apologize again, but Clint won’t hear it. “It’s all forgiven.” Clint runs a hand through Steve’s hair and Steve leans into the touch, then pulls back, embarrassed. “Hey, don’t do that,” Clint soothes, pulling Steve closer. Steve gives a shaky sigh as his head settles into Clint’s shoulder. They sit in silence until Natasha’s voice calls them to the living room.

“We better go,” Clint says, pulling away. Steve swallows a whine. “Don’t want to piss Nat off.” He winces when he stands up and Steve opens his mouth, not even knowing what he’s going to say. Clint stops him again. “Seriously Steve,” He says, grinning ruefully. “My ass can take a harder pounding than that.” The comment works as intended, startling a laugh out of Steve. Clint helps him up and they walk into the living room. Steve scrubs at his eyes before leaving his room, his hand coming away wet.

Clint heads into the kitchen to make some popcorn and Steve moves to the couch where Natasha is already underneath a blanket. He slides into his normal place in the middle of the couch, and Natasha pushes herself underneath his arm. He cautiously puts it around her shoulders and when she doesn’t hurt him, he lets it rest there comfortably.

Clint walks over with the popcorn - made exactly how Steve likes it. Why does that surprise him? - and smushes himself up against Steve’s other side, pulling at Steve’s arm until Steve wraps it around him. “I don’t need to be coddled,” Steve says, brow furrowing.

Clint shoves some popcorn into Steve’s mouth. “Shush. No one’s coddling anyone. You’re warm and comfortable, let us use that to our advantage.” Steve swallows his popcorn and opens his mouth again to say something. This time, it’s Natasha who shoves popcorn in his mouth. 

“Hush. Movie.” She pats him on the cheek and curls up beside him, still tucked underneath his arm. Steve is kept grounded as the movie plays on, the warmth of a body on either side of him keeping him from sliding too far into his thoughts. 

Before he can stop himself, he plops a kiss onto the top of Natasha’s head. His body tenses. Natasha pinches his side and he jerks away, making Clint spill the popcorn. “Aw, popcorn, no,” Clint whines, staring despondently at the few kernels on the floor. 

“My bad,” Steve offers, pulling his arm away from Natasha to clean it up. Natasha grabs his arm and pulls it back around her, eyes never leaving the screen.

“Leave it. Movie.” She says. Steve grins at her fondly and pulls her a little closer. He yanks Clint back into his spot, snickering when Clint loses his balance and faceplants into Steve’s chest. He uses his free hand to push himself off of Steve, and if Steve didn’t know better, he’d say Clint’s hand lingered. Steve is surprised by how much he wants it to linger.

Then he realizes. For the first time since he woke up, he’s happy. He told Dr. Jones he could be content here, but never happy. Steve has never been so glad to be wrong. He sits in silence for the rest of the movie, barely even noticing when both Natasha and Clint fall asleep. At least until Clint starts snoring into his leg, face smushed into Steve’s thigh. Chuckling silently, he pulls a pillow from one end of the couch and tucks it under Clint’s head. 

As soon as he moved, Clint was looking up at him, blinking, but he just pats him on the chest in thanks for the pillow and goes back to sleep. Steve lets them sleep for about half an hour, but by then he is jittery with pent-up energy. His leg starts bouncing up and down and he has to hold it down to stop it, but it’s too late. 

Natasha sits up and yawns, stretching. Steve has trouble pulling his eyes away from her. The light streams in the window and frames her perfectly, and Steve’s fingers itch to capture it on canvas. She meets his eyes and he looks away, blushing. Clint is still snoring on the pillow, mouth hanging open. 

Steve wants to draw him too.

Steve wants to draw both of them. And he finds himself not minding that he wouldn’t mind if they were nude drawings. He draws in a sharp breath and Clint is awake, rubbing his eyes. 

“Steve?” Natasha asks, taking his hand. Steve stares at his hand in hers. His hands have always been big, even before the serum, but for the first time, they don’t look too big for his body. With Natasha’s hand on his, he thinks his hands are the perfect size.

“Buddy, you alright?” Steve can hear the concern in Clint’s voice. He turns to look at Clint and is abruptly struck with the pure, absolute,  _ humanness _ of Clint. The cuts and bruises and broken bones that Clint gets don’t just disappear in a couple hours. They leave scars all over his body that just add to his humanness. Steve’s own body is scarless. Markless, even. Steve has never seen a scar on Natasha but he knows she has some. Clint wears his scars like badges of honour - hey, look at these! I was hurt but I  _ survived. _ I’m okay. I lived. 

“Steve, you’re worrying us here, pal,” Clint says, running his thumb over Steve’s cheekbone. Steve’s eyelids flutter closed at the touch. “Talk to us, Steve. We’re here for you.”

Steve knows that. He knows that other than Bucky, Clint and Natasha are the best friends he has. He knows that they would kill for him, but he also knows that he would die for them. And all of a sudden, he knows something else. 

“I love you,” He blurts, eyes flying open and meeting Clint’s. His gaze flicks to Natasha. “Both of you.” 

The silence that falls after he speaks is nearly unbearable, but when he tries to pull his hand away from Natasha, her grip tightens to the point of pain. Clint keeps stroking his cheekbone, almost absent-mindedly.

“The first person who told me they loved me was my third handler,” Natasha says bluntly, avoiding Steve’s gaze. “He told me he loved me, and then he broke my wrist.” 

“My brother told me he loved me,” says Clint, staring Steve in the face. “He told me he loved me, and then he shot me and left me for dead on the side of the road.”

“I don’t…” Steve starts to say.

“We aren’t the kind of people you love, Steve,” Natasha says gently. 

“Then what am I feeling?” Steve bursts. He pulls himself away from their gentle touches and paces across the room. “All I can think about when I see the two of you is pulling you close and never letting you go. It makes me happy when you smile, and whenever either of you has a bad day I want to go and punch the thing that made your day bad until you’re smiling again.” He stops pacing, drops to his knees in front of them and grabs their hands, putting them on top of his heart. “I want to be able to hold you when you want to be held. I want to be able to text you when I find funny pictures of dogs with wigs and not worry if you’ll think I’m annoying. I want to fall asleep to your breathing and wake up to your heartbeats. I never want to spend another day of my life without seeing your smiles. If that’s not love, then what is it?”

Clint and Natasha are silent. They stare at him, eyes wide. Steve thinks this is the first time he has ever seen either of them speechless. Clint never stops talking anyway, and when Steve thinks about why that is, he wants to dig up Clint’s father and throw him into the sun.

Natasha is quiet more often, but that doesn’t mean she has nothing to say. She always has something to say, but she rarely says it. And when Steve thinks about why  _ that _ is… Well, what he wants to do would get him shot. Repeatedly.

Steve waits for them to speak. He makes no move to touch them further, or to remove their hands from his heart. If they want him to leave, then he will pack his stuff and leave. Steve doesn’t think about what he will do if they let him stay. He waits for a minute, then two, then three. At minute five, Natasha blinks and pulls her hand away. Clint follows her lead and tucks his hand into his pocket.

Steve remains on his knees in front of them. “If you want me to leave, I’ll go.” He keeps steady eye contact with them, letting all his emotions show on his face. Whatever Natasha sees there makes her suck in a soft gasp and Clint… Clint just reaches out and runs his thumb over Steve’s cheek. 

“Stay,” says Clint.

“Stay,” agrees Natasha.

Steve slumps, all the tension in his body draining out at their words. He stands up and Clint and Natasha follow, pulling him into a hug, holding him close to them. They wrap their arms around him and Natasha buries her face into Steve’s neck. Clint runs his fingers through the hair on the back of Steve’s neck and Steve shivers. They stay standing, holding each other close for what seems like hours. Clint is the first to pull away, although he keeps one hand wrapped around Steve’s wrist. 

“I don’t know about the two of you, but all these emotions have tired me out,” Clint says with a wry grin. Just like that, the silent tension is broken and they share a grin. 

“I could nap,” Natasha says, tucking herself into Steve.

“I believe I said something about falling asleep to your breathing and waking up to your heartbeats?” That shocks a snort out of Natasha and Clint grins at Steve. Steve’s breath catches at how beautiful it is. Sure, Clint has smiled at him before… But this. This is different. Clint walks towards his room, pulling Steve and Natasha along behind him. 

The three of them stumble into the room and spill onto the bed. It takes some wiggling, but eventually they find a comfortable position. Steve lays on one side and Clint is on the other with Natasha curled up between them, her head pillowed on Steve’s chest. Steve grabs Clint’s hand and runs his thumb over Clint’s fingers, smiling softly at him over Natasha’s body. Natasha falls asleep first, and Clint follows close after.

Steve does exactly what he said he would, and falls asleep the sound of his two loves breathing. There’s a smile on his face.

~~~~~~

Steve is in class a couple days later, grinning to himself, when he receives a sharp elbow to the ribs that yanks him out of his thoughts. “Steve, man,” Miles hisses, “What the hell’s the matter with you? Class is almost over and you haven’t paid attention at all!”

Steve winces. “Lend me your notes after? Been a bit distracted lately.” Miles rolls their eyes, but nods.

“I’m expecting a full explanation,” They hiss, hands gesturing. Steve nods and focuses back in on the lecture. It seems to drag on and on, and the fact that Steve keeps thinking of how Clint looked before his coffee this morning isn’t helping him stay on track. American Sign Language is one of his favourite classes, but today is one of the rare occasions that their professor speaks and signs, instead of just signing.

Steve smiles as he remembers the shocked look on Clint’s face when Steve signed ‘ _ Good morning, coffee?’ _ , then shakes his head. Eventually the class ends and Steve packs up his stuff, chatting with Miles as they head to the cafe. 

“So, why were you so spaced out in class? Everything okay?” Miles asks, concern etched into their face. Steve blushes. “Oh my god, you met someone!” Miles hisses, grinning widely. “Who are they? When can we meet them? What’s their name? Tell me  _ everything _ !” They grab Steve’s arm and shake it gently, making Steve laugh. They walk through the doors of the cafe and grab an empty table to wait for the others.

“It’s still pretty new, so we’re taking things slow,” Steve explains, still blushing. “I don’t want to scare them off. It’s my first real relationship so…” His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, blush deepening when he sees that it’s Clint.

**Clumsy Fuck:** _ would u b mad if i said i went into ur room n stole ur hoodie mines in the wash n yours makes my pecs look nice _

Steve snickers. “That’s totally them, isn’t it?” Miles says loudly, leaning over to see. 

**Righteous Shithead** :  _ Not mad at all. Feel free. I encourage theft. _

“Aw, that’s adorable!” Miles screeches, clapping their hands together excitedly. 

“What’s adorable?” Alex asks, arriving with Darcy and Jake in tow. Jessie drops into place beside Miles, breathing hard. She’s got class across campus and likely ran here to spend some time with the group before her next class. Steve passes her his water bottle silently.

“Steve and his new beau,” Miles flutters their eyelashes dramatically, kissing Jessie on her temple. The table erupts into questions, all directed at Steve. He winces. 

His phone buzzes again but he doesn’t get the chance to check it as Jake snatches it out of his hands and sits on it, wagging his finger. “No phone until you tell us everything, mister.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at Jake. Both of them know Steve could move Jake no problem, but Steve sighs and nods. “I’ve had feelings for a while, but I only confessed over the weekend. It went rather well.” He blushes again and Darcy and Jessie ‘aww’. “We’re going slow, but I already know that I love ‘em.” Steve grins bashfully. “He steals my hoodies all the time, but what can you do?”

“That’s so nice, Steve,” Darcy says, reaching across the table and patting his hand. “We’re happy for you.” Then her eyes widen at something she sees behind Steve. “Steve’s six o’clock, major hotness alert.” The whole table except Steve subtly looks in that direction, their eyes all widening. Steve just chuckles and shakes his head, not interested. Darcy’s eyes widen further. “Holy shit, they’re coming over here oh my god I got caught looking  _ what do I do _ ?” 

A hand falls on Steve’s shoulder, and he absentmindedly drops a kiss onto it, familiar with the grip. Then it clicks in his mind and he grins, turning around to see Natasha standing behind him smirking. “Hey!” He says happily, “No one told me you were coming!” Natasha kisses him on the mouth gently, a smile quirking her lips when she pulls away and he pouts. 

“You were supposed to be texted about it.” She raises an eyebrow at him and Steve snorts, turning his head and holding his hand out to Jake. Jake sheepishly pulls Steve’s phone out from under his ass, wipes it on his pants and hands it to Steve. There is a text from Clint waiting.

~~

**Clumsy Fuck:** _ nats coming 2 get u 4 lunch _

**Righteous Shithead** :  _ :) _

~~

**Soulless Ginger:** _ Coming to get you for lunch, eta 5 min _

**Thing #2:** _ <3 _

~~

Steve grins and shoves it in his pocket. “Mind if we stay here? My friends want to get to know you.” She nods and without warning, plops herself down in his lap, squirming until she’s comfortable. Steve wraps his arms around her and hooks his chin onto her shoulder. 

“Steve,” Alex says carefully, “I thought you said your new person was a ‘he’.”

Steve opens his mouth, then realizes he has no idea what to say or how to explain his relationship with Natasha and Clint. “Our third,” Natasha says smoothly, “I’m Natasha and you are…?”

“Introductions, duh!” Steve says, smacking his forehead off Natasha’s shoulder. “This is Alex, Jessie, Miles, Darcy and Jake. They’re my friends, so be nice.” 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Natasha.” Alex declares, always the first to break a tense silence. “When you say third, you mean what, exactly?”

Natasha taps out ‘B-F’ on Steve’s leg in Morse code and he kisses her shoulder. “Clint is our boyfriend.” Steve gets a rush at her saying boyfriend and blushes again. He’s been calling them his boyfriend and girlfriend in his head, but nobody needs to know that.

“Aw, look at him!” Miles coos, drawing attention to it. Steve buries his head in Natasha’s shoulder, hiding his face. “No need to be embarrassed, Steve, it’s a good thing!” Miles says, grinning at him when he peeks over Natasha’s shoulder.

“Absolutely,” Darcy says firmly, “We’re happy for you, one hundred percent.” This is met with murmurs of agreement from around the table, except for Jake, who’s pouting in his chair. 

“What?” He says when the group looks at him. “I’m not happy. I’m still holding out hope Steve here will swoop me off my feet and let me ride him into the sunset.”

“Boo!” Jessie calls, throwing a wadded-up napkin at Jake’s head. “Terrible use of a riding pun!” 

Natasha apparently doesn’t think so, because she full out laughs at Jake’s joke, her body shaking on top of Steve. Jake eyes her speculatively. “Never mind, I like her.” Steve snorts.

“‘Course you do,” he says dryly, “She’s the only one who will laugh at your terrible jokes.” Jake gasps in mock outrage.

“How dare you, sir!” He cries. “My jokes are only the best jokes, held in the highest standard by all who hear them.”

“Yeah, maybe on Opposite Day,” Steve jeers, freeing one of his hands to tweak Jake’s nose. Jake squawks in outrage and bats his hand away. 

“Steve,” Natasha says, twisting around to hold his face, “You are my boyfriend and I would trust you with my life. But that was an awful joke.” The table bursts into laughter but all Steve can do is grin at the fact that Natasha called him her boyfriend.

“He’s crazy in love with you, Natasha,” Darcy says, grinning. Then she winces. “I mean, only if he’s said that already. If he hasn’t then he just has crazy strong feelings for you! I’m going to shut up now.”

Steve grins and breaks the awkward silence that has fallen. “I do love her. Clint as well. They know that. I’m still in shock that a simple guy like me could get two amazing people like them.” He leans up and places a soft kiss on Natasha’s lips, enjoying the small blush he gets from her at his words.

“That is sickeningly cute,” Miles says. They turn to Jessie, “Babes, why aren’t we like that?”

Jessie raises an eyebrow. “Because we’ve been together for three and a half years and I’ve seen you fart and then rate it.” Steve snorts, hiding his laughter in Natasha’s back. The rest of the table start jeering and making fun of Miles, who’s struggling to defend their actions.

Steve grins. He’s so lucky to have all these people in his life.

~~~~~~

Steve gets home from his classes a few days later, expecting to go inside the apartment and curl up on the couch with Clint and Natasha, like they do every Friday. Instead, he walks into the apartment and is immediately bundled into a jacket and hurried back outside, barely having time to drop his backpack. “Where are we going?” He asks amused, letting Clint and Natasha pull him along.

Clint is limping slightly, his broken leg from his last mission not entirely healed. “We thought we could go bowling! Or Nat thought we could go bowling. I said let’s stay home and cuddle in our underwear but I was outvoted.”

“We both know that you’ve been aching for a chance to show off your skills at bowling, Clint,” Natasha says wryly. “He still buys into the macho crap that says he has to prove himself to you,” She says to Steve.

Steve stops walking and takes Clint’s face in his hands. “Clint, I love you. All of you, disasters included. You don’t need to prove yourself to me. I knew who you were the second I knocked on your door and you apologized for not having your ears in. I will always love you.” Clint blushes and opens his mouth. Then he closes it again and just places a simple kiss on Steve’s lips. 

“I love you, Steve.” Steve grins, still overcome with happiness whenever he hears him say that.

“Yes, yes, you love each other, can we go bowling now?” Natasha interrupts them and tugs on Steve’s arm. Steve pulls her into his arms and kisses her on the cheek.

“I love you, Natasha. Always.” She smiles softly and snuggles into him, pulling Clint behind her so she’s sandwiched in between them. 

They stand in a small cluster for a few minutes, enjoying the heat generated by their bodies. Clint eventually pulls away and whines, “Can we go bowling now? I may not need to prove myself but I still want to show off my amazing skills!”

Steve shakes his head, grinning, and allows himself to be pulled along. Clint and Natasha bicker the whole way to the bowling alley. Clint wiggles his eyebrows when Steve’s shoes don’t fit and he has to go back for a bigger pair. Steve doesn’t understand why, but he blushes anyway. 

It’s the best date Steve’s ever been on. Of course, he doesn’t know how to bowl, so he loses miserably. But he does it with a smile on his face and love in his heart.

The best part is when Steve sees someone smoking and says, “You know they prescribed me cigarettes for my asthma? When I found out that cigarettes make asthma worse, I was furious! I don’t think I slept for three days because I was so mad.” He proceeds to go on a rant about the wonders of modern medicine, not even noticing when he gets a strike that moves his score from ‘atrocious’ to ‘pitiful’. Clint laughs at him and Natasha rolls her eyes and ruffles his hair fondly. 

“Rather disappointing score for someone who played ultimate frisbee for a living,” Natasha says. Steve doesn’t know how she makes eating french fries look elegant, but she does.

“We get it, Steve,” Clint teases, “you’re an old man.” 

Steve growls in mock outrage and yanks Clint over his shoulder. “Could an old man do this?” Steve says, grinning, as he spins in a circle faster and faster, relishing in Clint’s laughter. He spins around a few more times before stopping and putting Clint down, keeping an arm around his waist to keep him upright.

“Very spry for your age, aren’t you?” Clint pats him on the chest gently, smirking. Steve splutters, making Natasha laugh. 

“Come on, Clint,” Natasha says, walking over to them, “Stop teasing him. You might make his heart give out.”

“My heart stops every time I see you,” Steve says softly, brushing a stray piece of hair from her forehead. Her cheeks go pink. 

“What does it do when it sees me?” Clint asks.

“Beats harder so I can run away faster,” Steve deadpans, bursting into laughter at Clint’s offended squawk.

“Rude,” Clint huffs. 

Steve grabs his arm and pulls Clint into a hug, squishing Natasha in between them. “Every time I see you, my heart stops and my brain tells me that I had better treat the two of you right. You’re too good for me, the both of you. I love you.” He kisses them both softly, then holds them tightly in his arms for a few minutes. 

The three of them stand in silence, arms wrapped around each other. They are startled out of their little bubble when the sound of pins crashing together erupts through the alley and cheers follow. Natasha pulls away and walks toward the counter. “Was it something I said?” Steve asks, watching her walk away. 

“No, Steve,” Clint says gently, “We both have trouble accepting compliments. From you, in particular. You know our childhoods weren’t the best, and Natasha has had it beaten into her that love is for children. It’s not easy overcoming that sort of brainwashing.” He squeezes Steve on the shoulder.

“What can I do to prove to her that I love her?”

“It’s not about that. She knows you love her, she just has trouble with her feelings for you. She’ll come around eventually.”

“She doesn’t have to come around,” Steve says, fists clenched. He turns and faces Clint, so he doesn’t see Natasha walking back towards them. “She doesn’t have to say the words for me to know she feels strongly about me. I know how I feel about her, and about you, and as long as you two are happy with the way we are, then I’m happy. We don’t need to add words to that. She could never say those three words and it wouldn’t matter to me. I’m sticking around for as long as she’ll have me.” 

He stumbles forward as Natasha slams into his back, arms curling around his stomach. She doesn’t say anything and neither does Steve, he just turns around, gathers her close and holds her tight. Clint turns around and grabs their stuff from the bench, breathing deeply. 

When he turns around, Steve smiles at him. “Ready to go?” Natasha doesn’t say anything, just takes his hand and Steve’s and leads them out of the bowling alley. The walk home is spent in silence and there is  _ something _ sparking between them. They arrive at the apartment and Natasha unlocks the door silently. She walks inside and faces them, taking a deep breath. 

“I was trained in how to use my body.” She says bluntly. Steve sucks in a breath. “I can seduce anyone, man or woman or otherwise, in the first twenty minutes of meeting them and have them naked and willing in the next five. In all my years as an operative for the Red Room, and then SHIELD, I have never once enjoyed sex. It was a tool.  _ I  _ was a tool. I was worried that the three of us taking that step would break this thing we’ve built.” Steve takes half a step towards her and she holds out a hand, stopping him. Natasha takes another deep breath. “I’m not worried anymore. What we have is strong enough that if we take that step,  _ when _ we take that step…” She pauses and takes two steps towards them. Coming to a stop directly in front of them, she takes their hands and puts them over her heart. “I’m sticking around for as long as the two of you will have me. I wish I could say those words, but it’s… hard, for me to be that vulnerable.”

Steve cups her face in his free hand. “I meant what I said, Natasha. I’m here. For as long as you want me. Just because I say those words doesn’t mean you have to. Move at your own pace. I will be here when you’re ready, if you ever decide you’re ready.” He turns to Clint then, and pulls him beside Natasha. Clint and Natasha face Steve, his hands on their hearts. “I see you, and I am not afraid,” Steve says simply, bowing his head. “I will  _ never _ be afraid.” He vows, lifting his head and staring them in the eyes.

No words are spoken but Natasha takes them by the hand and leads them into the bedroom. They follow her in and the door closes with a soft  _ snick _ behind them.

**~~~~~~**

Steve didn’t know what to do with his hands. He had closed the door behind him because it seemed like the thing to do, but then he remembered that they were the only ones in the apartment but he didn’t want to re-open the door and look like an idiot. So he just turned around and met Natasha and Clint’s eyes awkwardly, shifting his weight onto his left leg. 

“Well, this is awkward,” Clint says dryly. Steve snorts. And just like that, the tension is broken. 

“You’d think between the three of us, we would know how this works by now,” Natasha says, shaking her head. Then she takes off her shirt. 

Steve chokes. “Holy  _ fuck _ , you’re beautiful…” He says breathlessly, eyes drinking her in. She turns a beautiful shade of pink and cocks an eyebrow at him and Clint.

“Do I need to undress you myself, or we going to get started?” Clint snorts and pulls off his shirt, joining Natasha in the topless club and consequently knocking the breath out of Steve. Again. He stands there, gaping like a fish out of water until Natasha rolls her eyes and yanks him forwards into a searing kiss, releasing him after a few seconds and then doing the same to Clint.

Steve watches them kiss and squirms in his clothes, hyper-aware of everywhere his skin is covered. They pull apart, Clint gasping for breath and turn to look at him. Steve pulls off his shirt and tosses it somewhere behind him, unabashedly flexing his muscles. He takes a shy step towards Clint and holds out his hand, smiling when Clint takes it and Steve tilts his head up for a kiss. He never really processed that Clint was taller than him by a couple of inches, but  _ damn _ if it doesn’t work for him.

Kissing Clint is different from kissing Natasha. He can feel Clint’s stubble on his face and he tastes like coffee, whereas Natasha tastes like mint and her lips are softer. He kisses Clint for a while, breaking apart only when a small hand curls around his bicep and pulls gently, leading him over to the bed. 

Natasha pushes him down onto the bed and climbs on top of him, straddling him in her leggings and bra. Steve props himself up on his elbows and watches her, noting the way her eyes flicker when she glances at his pants and how she bites her lip before moving to unbuckle his belt. He catches her hands before they reach their destination and sits up, lifting her chin with his other hand. 

“You’re in charge, Natasha,” he says, holding her gaze, “We go at your pace.” Clint presses himself against Steve’s back, having climbed behind him on the bed. 

“What he said, Tasha.” Clint presses a kiss to Steve’s shoulder, keeping his eyes on Natasha all the while. 

She bites her lip again and tugs her hands out of Steve’s grip. Leaning forward, she presses a gentle kiss to Steve’s mouth then leans down and does the same to Clint. Steve shudders as he hears them kiss over his shoulder, and Natasha pulls away from Clint and grins at him. “Like to watch, Steve?” She purrs wickedly. Steve groans as all the blood in his body rushes south. 

“I like to be watched,” Clint offers, snaking a hand around Steve’s waist and pressing down on the bulge in his pants. Steve’s breath hitches at the delicious friction and his hips cant up unconsciously, seeking more. 

Natasha smiles wryly and moves Clint’s hand away, then unbuckles Steve’s pants and pulls them down, revealing his grey briefs, stained with a small wet patch on the front. “Eager, are we?” Natasha copies Clint and presses her hand down onto Steve’s covered member, grinning when the action pulls another groan from Steve.

“No… teasing…” Steve grunts, hips twitching. “Not this time.” His eyes roll back in his head as Natasha increases the pressure of her hand. Clint nibbles on his ear, the sound of his breathing doing more for Steve than he thought anything could. Clint pins Steve’s arms to his side as Natasha moves down his torso, stopping occasionally to suck a mark into Steve’s stomach. When she reaches the line of his underwear, she leans in close and blows a cool stream of air directly at his dick, making his hips jerk sharply.

Natasha pulls his briefs down his legs and tosses them over her shoulder, sucking in a breath at the sight of Steve bare before her. Something about being the only one that’s naked between the three of them sends a bolt of arousal straight to Steve’s gut and his dick twitches noticeably. Natasha laughs and before Steve can say anything, she swallows his shaft down to the root in one practiced movement. “Fu- _ uck Natasha _ !” Steve swears, eyes rolling back in his head. 

Clint grinds himself into Steve’s back and swears viciously. Natasha bobs a couple of times before pulling off with a wet  _ pop _ and grinning at the two of them, her eyes blown wide. “Yum,” she says.

Steve rips himself away from Clint and pulls Natasha up to him, kissing her with everything he has in him. Not releasing her, he turns around and lays her down on the bed, pulling her leggings and panties down in one yank. She moans brokenly and he swallows the noise she makes. He swallows the next one too, grinning into their kiss when he realizes that Clint has taken it upon himself to learn what Natasha tastes like.

Natasha arches her back and Steve uses his free hand to roll a nipple between his fingers, staring in awe when Natasha’s eyes roll back and she groans. “Clint,” she pants, chest heaving, “Hands. Now.” Steve hears Clint chuckle but he must follow her instructions because Natasha tenses suddenly and then relaxes, sighing in pleasure. 

Steve glances between himself and Natasha, moaning at the sight of Clint between Natasha’s thighs. “Fuck, the two of you together is almost too much,” He gasps, hips thrusting minutely. His dick grazes Clint’s shoulder whenever he moves and the little flashes of friction are not nearly enough to do anything for Steve.

He leans down and kisses Natasha again and she moans into his mouth, her body tensing against his. He kisses her through her orgasm, enjoying the way she twitches as she nears the end. “Clint…” She says, but Clint is already pulling away and standing up. He yanks Steve towards him and kisses him, pushing their hips together and swallowing Steve’s groan at the sudden friction.

The two men fall onto the bed beside Natasha and she props herself up on one arm and watches them kiss. “A girl could get used to this view,” she purrs, a small hitch in her voice. Steve glances over as Clint kisses and sucks and nibbles at his neck and his eyes widen when he sees her hand in between her thighs moving in circles. 

“Clint, I need -” Steve cuts himself off with a moan as Clint shucks off his pants and underwear and grabs their cocks in his hand. 

“Shit, Steve, so -  _ fuck _ \- good,” Clint pants, moving his hand up and down. Steve arches up into his grip and moans along with him, the pleasure coiling in his gut, winding tighter and tighter. He whines when Clint’s hand disappears but cries out in pleasure when it comes back slick and dripping with lube.

Clint grabs hold of them again and resumes his movements, making Steve’s mind go blank with pleasure. “Clint, I’m gonna -” Steve grits out, doing his best to hold off. His hand gropes blindly at the mattress until he reaches Natasha, and he moves his hand blindly until she grabs it and moves it to what can only be her clit, engorged and puffy as it is. He rubs in tight little circles, loving the little pants he can hear coming from Natasha. The pleasure coiling in his gut explodes and he screams out their names as he comes, biting down on Clint’s shoulder. His fingers pinch Natasha’s clit and she comes again on his fingers, and Clint comes with a muffled curse, their intertwined fluids mixing on Steve’s stomach. Clint falls on top of him and they twitch through their orgasms together. Steve slumps into a boneless puddle of goo underneath Clint and with a superhuman effort, pulls Natasha on top of him as well. 

The three of them pant loudly for a few minutes, trying to catch their breath. Steve is having trouble forming words, his orgasm was so good. “Washcloth,” Clint croaks, rolling off of him and padding out the door, still naked. He comes back in with a damp cloth and uses it to wipe off Steve’s stomach. Clint throws the cloth over his shoulder, no doubt tossing it directly into the laundry basket in the corner. He curls back up on the bed beside Steve and presses a kiss to his chest, grabbing his hand.

Steve presses a kiss to Natasha’s head and feels her relax on his chest. He grabs her hand and entwines their fingers, rubbing soothing little circles with his thumb. “Okay?” He asks.

“I… enjoyed that,” Natasha says, sounding surprised. 

“I would hope so,” Clint grumbles, his face smooshed into Steve’s ribs. “Worked hard to make you happy.” He fumbles around on Steve’s chest until Natasha takes pity on him and grabs his hand with her free one, pulling it to her chest. 

“I love you guys,” Steve says, a soft smile on his face. Clint mumbles something in response and Natasha just presses a kiss to his knuckles. 

“I’m glad we went on that date,” She says simply. 

Clint pulls his hand from hers and blindly searches his way up her body until he reaches her mouth, which he then covers. “Shush now, sleep time.” Steve stifles a snort and removes Clint’s hand from Natasha’s mouth, putting it back near her free hand and smiling when she grabs it. 

“Sleep now,” she agrees, smiling. She slides off of Steve’s chest and curls up next to him, using his chest as a pillow. Steve frees his hand and pulls the covers over the three of them before grabbing her hand again. In no time, Clint and Natasha are both asleep on him. 

Steve stares at the ceiling, grinning like an idiot. It takes him no time at all (forty-two seconds) to fall asleep, and the smile remains on his face until he wakes up in the morning. 

**~~~~~~**

The rest of the weekend goes similarly. Steve doesn’t think any of them were fully dressed at any point over the weekend, and he loves it. Steve hasn’t felt this good since - well, since he was small and he told Bucky how he felt. There were a few moments over the weekend where Steve broke down into tears because something Natasha or Clint said reminded him too much of Bucky.

When that happened, they stopped what they were doing and just held him until he felt better. Sometimes it took minutes, sometimes it took hours. On one occasion, Steve apologized for crying. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Steve,” Natasha had said, running her hand through his hair, “We understand.” And the thing was, Steve believed her. He believed her when she said that they understood because he knew they did. 

On Sunday evening, just after dinner when they were lounging about in their underwear, Steve blurts, “I’m glad Coulson made me choose.” Natasha and Clint turn to face him, confused. “What I mean is,” Steve fumbles, “He asked me if I would rather learn about the last 66 years from Agent Jones or in a classroom. I chose the classroom and he made it happen. He enrolled me at NYU, he sent me to live here… Without Coulson, this could have gone much differently. I could have been living in a shitty apartment with no real friends or relationships in my life, the first time I met Tony I probably would have punched him…” At this, Clint snorts and flops down on top of Steve, squishing him further into the sofa. 

“I considered it after you told us what he said to you at that meeting.” He says, anger colouring his voice. Natasha says nothing, but the way her lip curls in contempt makes Steve think that a punch from Clint would have been the least of Tony’s worries.

Steve chuckles and runs a hand through Clint’s hair, scratching his scalp. “He didn’t mean that, you know it was all an act.”

“He still hasn’t apologized.” Clint grumbles. Despite the topic, the vibrations from his voice are doing wonders for Steve’s libido. 

“And he won’t,” Steve says, “That’s not how he is. Howard screwed him up with regards to feelings and as much as I respected the man, I still think he wasn’t fit to have children. I’m glad he did, because Tony is my friend, but no one deserves to have Howard Stark as a father.” Clint rolls off of him and lands on the floor with a curse, then stands up and stretches. Steve bites back a whine at the sight of Clint’s muscles rolling under his skin, and tamps down on the arousal flaring low in his gut. Then he remembers he doesn’t have to hide how he feels and lets it burn, stretching his body out and enjoying the way Clint’s breathing hitches. “You see something you like?” He says slyly, watching Clint’s eyes dilate. He can feel Natasha rolling her eyes from beside him, but he can also hear her heartbeat speeding up and he sees her thighs clench together.

Clint stalks over to him and Steve looks up at him innocently, loving the way Clint stares him down. “Why did no one ever tell me that Steve Rogers was a tease?” He says. Those are the last words spoken for the next hour.

~~~~~~

Clint rolls off of him, panting and covered in sweat. “You suck, you asshole.”

Steve grins. “Actually, I believe that was your asshole.” Clint groans and smacks at him halfheartedly, while Natasha snorts on his other side. 

“That was rather fun to watch,” she comments, “I understand why Steve likes it so much.” Steve blushes as she kisses him on the cheek on her way to the bathroom. Before she shuts the door, she turns and says, “If either of you come in here while I’m showering, I will gut you and hang your corpses off the balcony.”

Clint and Steve turn to face each other, eyes wide. “Is it weird that I’m a little turned on by that?” Clint asks. Steve shakes his head and lunges at Clint, tackling him onto the kitchen counter. “Not again!” Clint complains, but he’s pulling Steve against him like he’ll die if he can’t touch him, so Steve thinks he’s okay with it. 

~~~~~~

Steve hums as he moves through the kitchen in nothing but his briefs, making breakfast while Clint and Natasha are in the shower. He flips the pancakes expertly, and does a little dance across the floor to grab the orange juice out of the fridge. A low whistle sounds from behind him and he almost drops the juice. “Show me what that ass can do,” Clint says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You already know what this ass can do, Clint,” Steve rolls his eyes and goes back to cooking, but if he puts a little extra shimmy in his step, well, no one has to know but him and Clint. He hears Clint move across the floor and his arms wrap around Steve’s torso. He props his chin on Steve’s shoulder and the two of them cuddle in silence while Steve finishes breakfast. “Natasha coming to eat?” Steve asks, sliding the pancakes onto a plate.

“I am, but we can’t stay long,” Natasha says, walking out of the bedroom. “Coulson has called us in for an assignment, wheels up in two hours.” Steve kisses her on the cheek and hands her a plate loaded with pancakes, eggs and bacon. He does the same for Clint, rolling his eyes and kissing him on the cheek too when Clint whines and tilts his cheek towards Steve.

The three of them eat breakfast in companionable silence, broken only by the sound of cutlery hitting the plates. A knock on the door startles Steve, and as he goes to answer it he says, “We expecting anyone?” Not waiting for an answer, he pulls opens the door - belatedly remembering he’s still only in his underwear.

“Damn, Rogers!” Tony whistles, running a speculative eye over Steve’s body. “Barton okay with you having guests over?” He winks and walks past Steve, coming to a dead stop when he takes in Clint’s similar state.

Steve snorts. “Pretty sure he’s okay with it,” he says, closing the door. He ushers Tony into the kitchen, sitting him down and putting a plate in front of him. “Eat, I made lots.” Tony sits silently, mouth open, eyes flicking between Clint and Steve. 

“That’s a coincidence, right?” Tony babbles, gesturing between them. “I mean, you and Barton just had what appears to be really good sex at the same time with different people, right?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but before he can answer, Natasha stands silently and kisses Clint on the cheek, then puts her plate in the sink and does the same to Steve. Steve grins, still in awe that they can just  _ do _ that now. “Sure, if Natasha counts as different people. I mean, there’s…” Steve counts on his fingers, muttering, “four possible combinations, and I’m pretty sure we hit all of them multiple times.” He winks salaciously at Clint and smirks at the blush it gets him.

“That’s an image I don’t mind having,” Tony says, eyes still wide. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “As long as it stays firmly in your head, I don’t care what images you cook up in that big brain of yours.” He pushes Tony’s plate a little closer. “Eat, Tony.”

Tony starts shoving food in his mouth. “So with the Murder Twins all dressed and ready, I assume Fury called you guys on missions?” He barrels past their affirmative responses and keeps talking. “Just so you know, it’s not the same mission. You’re separate this time around, and while I personally don’t care if you aren’t together on a mission, it seems that Agent Agent has decided that he does care. So as of now, you have new StarkTech comms that will let you communicate with each other over long distances. As in, between here and India distances.”

“What’s it gonna cost us?” Clint says suspiciously.

“What he means to say, Tony,” Steve says, “is thank you. It’ll keep my nerves at bay if I know they at least have each other.” He nudges Clint with his hip and Clint grumbles out a thank you. The whole scene is so reminiscent of morning with Bucky and his ma when he was younger, that Steve suddenly has to choke back tears. He busies himself with the dishes, his back to the room. 

Clint comes up behind him and leans into him briefly, pressing a kiss onto the back of his neck and sneaking his dish into the sink. “Yeah, sure, thanks.” Clint says as he and Natasha grab their gear, kiss Steve goodbye and head out the door, leaving Steve and Tony alone.

“Tony, I’m sorry for what I said at SHIELD,” Steve says, “I know you don’t like being reminded of Howard and I was just playing a part. I’ve got SHIELD convinced that I still don’t know how to work a microwave and have no idea how to talk to people.”

Tony snorts. “It’s whatever, Steve. Barely even registered. Not like I meant anything I said to you either.” Steve recognizes the apology for what it is and inclines his head. They chat amicably for the next hour or so before Tony has to go back to his business. Steve spends the rest of the day catching up on schoolwork and tidying the apartment. It’s strangely reminiscent of his days as an asthmatic invalid, but Steve finds it relaxing. 

Steve has a life outside of Natasha and Clint, he does. But he’s been so focused on them that he hasn’t been putting as much effort into everything else he cares about in his life. So he spends three days being a normal person - he manages a study session with Alex, Miles, and Jessie (although not much studying gets done honestly), he wanders around New York - and if he comes home and steals one of Clint’s hoodies and stares at the wall for a while after seeing his old neighbourhood, well, that’s between him and the couch.

On the third day since Natasha and Clint left, Steve realizes that he misses them. He knows better than to call or text them while they’re on a mission, so he just decides that he’ll do something nice when they get back. He spends the remainder of the day switching between studying for a test he has in a few weeks and brainstorming date ideas. Clint never needs to know that he gets his favourite idea yet - dinner, a movie on the roof, and dancing - from Pinterest.

Just before Steve is about to put his stuff away and go to bed, his phone rings. “Hey, Nat! You almost done?” Steve asks cheerfully, happy to hear her voice.

“Steve.”

Steve is immediately on edge. She sounds exhausted and upset and scared, and Natasha never gets scared. “What happened?” He grits out, scared of her answer.

“He’s gone, Steve,” Natasha says, half-sobbing, “Clint’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it? I'm super proud of Steve's little speech where he realizes his feelings. That's one of two scenes in this fic that I'm really proud of. The other is in the epilogue.
> 
> Next chapter is Avengers goodness! It'll be posted on April 15, so look forward to that!


	4. Chapter Four: Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve protects New York from an army of aliens that want to take over the Earth.
> 
>  
> 
> Because that might as well happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Four, y'all! This is one of my favourite chapters, not only because it's basically the first Avengers movie but written down, but because we get to see some of Steve's motivations and the way he thinks. 
> 
> Thanks to my amazing beta, @tomorraw on Tumblr (check her out, she's great)! I honestly could not have gotten this written without her.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

**Chapter Four - Fight**

Steve honestly doesn’t remember much after Natasha says that. He’s pretty sure that he reassured her that Clint would be fine and he can take care of himself. He knows that he told her to stay on her mission and that he loved her and would see her soon. What he doesn’t remember is how he ended up at a little gym he found in his early days of living with Clint. 

All Steve knows is that one minute, he’s in his apartment on the phone with Natasha, and the next, he’s beating the shit out of a punching bag. He’s not exactly surprised when it breaks off its chain and hits the opposite wall. Wearily, Steve grabs a replacement bag and hangs it on a hook. The dull thud of his fists hitting the bag is vaguely comforting.

“Trouble sleeping?” A voice rings through the empty space and Steve looks up. 

He’s not surprised it’s Fury. “I slept for seventy years, sir. Think I’ve had my fill.” He slams his wrapped hands into the bag, hoping Fury will take the hint and leave.

“Then you should be out,” Fury says. Steve’s not surprised he’s still here. “Celebrating, seeing the world.”

Breathing heavily, Steve gives up on beating another bag into submission and starts to unwrap his hands. “When I went under, the world was at war.” Steve plays up the ‘affected soldier’ act around Fury, and Fury laps it up. No one seems to remember that Steve was someone else before he was Captain America. “I wake up, they say we won. They didn’t say what we lost.”

People look at Steve and all they see is a soldier. They see a man in a uniform holding a shield and don’t look any further, because they don’t want to look further. No one wants to accept that there’s a man behind the shield, a man under the mask. Steve’s used to it by now, but that doesn’t mean it’s not irritating sometimes.

“We’ve made some mistakes along the way,” Fury says, “Some, very recently.” And there it is, thinks Steve. He knew Fury was going to show up eventually, and when he did he would have a compelling - at least to him - argument about why Steve should pick up the shield again. 

Steve lets his eyes flick down to the folder Fury is holding. “You here with a mission, sir?”

“I am.”

“Trying to get me back into the world?”

“Trying to save it.” Fury opens the folder and hands it to Steve. 

Steve sits down on a bench, hiding the fact that just a picture of the thing makes his legs weak. This blue cube was the reason he lost Bucky. The reason he could have never had a life with Peggy. The reason he’s here. Steve can’t really be mad, if it wasn’t for the Tesseract, he would never have met Clint and Natasha.

“Hydra’s secret weapon.” Steve’s voice comes out solid, and he guesses those lessons with Natasha have been paying off.

“Howard Stark fished that out of the ocean when he was looking for you,” Fury says. Steve’s head jerks up. “He thought what we think. The Tesseract could be the key to unlimited, sustainable energy. That’s something the world sorely needs.” Fury is an excellent liar, Steve will give that. But the serum gives Steve a slight advantage, as in he can hear the minute changes in Fury’s breathing and heart rate

Steve hands back the file. “Who took it from you?”

“He’s called Loki. He’s not from around here.” Steve has to suppress a snort. It’s amusing that Fury thinks Clint wouldn’t have told Steve about what happened in New Mexico. “There’s a lot we’ll have to fill you in on if you’re in. The world has gotten a lot stranger than you already know.”

Steve scoffs. “At this point, I doubt anything would surprise me.”

“Ten bucks says you’re wrong,” says Fury. Steve walks over to the backup punching bags laying on the floor, picks one up and puts it over his shoulder, and starts to walk to the door. “There’s a debriefing packet waiting for you back at Barton’s apartment. Is there anything you can tell us about the Tesseract that we ought to know now?”

Steve scowls. “You should’ve left it in the ocean.” He leaves the gym and Fury, choosing to walk home instead of calling a cab or taking the subway. It’s cool outside, and the fresh air helps keep him calm. He arrives at the apartment and walks up the stairs slowly. When he reaches the door, he is surprised to find Coulson waiting. “Thought you would’ve let yourself in,” he says, opening the door.

“Didn’t seem polite,” Coulson shrugs. He follows Steve in and leans against the counter, watching Steve put the punching bag down. “I assume Agent Romanoff told you about Agent Barton.” Steve nods. “We’re tracking him now, but if he doesn’t want to be found…” He trails off.

Steve grins, proud of Clint even though he doesn’t want to be. “Clint was trained by the best, works with the best, and is one of the best agents SHIELD has to offer. If he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.” 

Coulson smiles slightly, then pulls an envelope out of his briefcase. “Debriefing package. Only if you’re in.”

“If it’ll help me find Clint and bring him home, I’m in.” Steve takes the packet and skims it. “But tell Fury it was because of my sense of righteousness or whatever.” 

Coulson snorts. “Will do.” He leaves shortly after that, and Steve lets himself feel the things he was punching away back at the gym. He falls to his knees with a sob and curls up on the kitchen floor, tears streaming down his face. 

Time passes, and eventually, he pulls himself together. “C’mon, Rogers. Get a grip. Tears won’t help save the man you love.” 

History says that Steve joined the war effort and volunteered for the serum because he didn’t like bullies. And that was mostly true. He doesn’t like bullies, never has.

But the other side of the story is that Steve didn’t know if he could survive if something happened to Bucky. Steve Rogers went to war to protect the man he loves - loved. Now, sixty-six years later, it looks like he’ll be doing the same thing all over again.

~~~~~~

One day and an informative, slightly awkward Quinjet ride with Coulson later - man, the two of them had so much fun playing up the ‘Coulson is a total fanboy’ thing… Steve knows that’ll be all over SHIELD by the next day if the way the two pilots are listening in is any indication - Steve is standing on the deck of an aircraft carrier, unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

“Agent Romanoff, Captain Rogers.” Coulson’s voice makes him jerk in surprise. He nearly sobs in relief when he sees Natasha walking towards them. 

“Ma’am,” Steve says politely, continuously reminding himself that to most of the people on this carrier, this is the first time he and Natasha are meeting. 

Natasha eyes him up and down, and the corner of her mouth quirks up. “Hi,” she says coolly. She says something to Coulson but Steve is too busy drinking her in to hear. Fuck, he’s missed her. They make idle chat while they walk along the deck, stopping when Steve spots someone he’s wanted to meet for a while.

“Dr. Banner!” He calls, holding out his hand. “Word is you can find the cube.”

Dr. Banner shakes his hand and says, “Is that the only word on me?”

“Only word I care about,” Steve says. Dr. Banner nods. 

“It must be strange for you, all of this,” Dr. Banner says awkwardly. 

“Well, this is actually kind of familiar.” 

“Gentlemen, you might want to step inside in a minute. It’s gonna get a little hard to breathe.” Natasha says from behind them. 

Banner makes a crack about being contained, and he and Steve walk to the edge of the deck and look over. Steve’s jaw drops as he sees a massive engine emerge from the water. The carrier rises from the water in an explosion of water and loud noise. 

Natasha leads them inside, tossing a glance over her shoulder when they reach the bridge and catching Steve’s eye. She sends him a little smirk and he winks at her, staring around in awe. A flurry of voices mingle together, nearly making Steve flinch. He catches sight of Fury near the front, surrounded by screens. “Gentlemen,” Fury says, turning around to face them.

Steve hands Fury ten bucks - mostly to appease him. After seeing Natasha and Clint wrapped around each other, holding out their hands to bring him closer, nothing surprises Steve anymore. But it’s good to be underestimated. Dr. Banner and Fury fall into some science talk, discussing tracking methods and gamma rays. 

Steve catches sight of Natasha as she crouches down by a screen with Clint’s face on it. A knot of worry makes itself known in Steve’s throat, and he catches Natasha’s eye as she straightens up. They hold eye contact for barely two seconds, but even that calms Steve considerably. He wanders closer to the giant window at the front of the room, watching the clouds drift by.

The view from the cockpit of the Valkyrie flashes into his head and he turns away. He takes a deep breath and follows Natasha and Dr. Banner to the lab, hoping something there will take his mind off of the endless blue of the sky.

~~~~~~

He’s barely back on the bridge for a few minutes, agreeing to sign Coulson’s trading cards - “Near mint. Slight foxing around the edges, but…” - when he’s being sent to Germany. Steve sighs. Why did it have to be Germany?

~~~~~~

Seeing the suit again is surprisingly anticlimactic, Steve thinks. The agents who accompanied him are probably expecting him to smile or cry or make some display of emotion, but mostly Steve just feels… tired. He’ll fight Loki because he’s one of the only ones who can, but after that… After that, Steve just wants to go to school every day and come home to the people he loves. 

~~~~~~

The flight to Germany is relatively uneventful. Steve can’t say anything to Natasha because there are SHIELD agents in the jet with them, but he manages to squeeze her hand briefly. Some tension drains out of her shoulders, but it reappears when they hear what Loki’s saying to the German people. 

Steve grinds his teeth. “I’m going to give that boy a stern talking-to,” He mutters, holding back his grin at Natasha’s snort. Loki aims his staff at an elderly man who has stood up in defiance, and Steve doesn’t think. He just acts. 

He drops out of the jet and lands in front of the man, the energy blast redirecting off the shield and back onto Loki. “You know, the last time I was in Germany, and saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing.” Steve bares his teeth. 

“The soldier,” Loki chuckles, standing, “The man out of time.”

Steve grins. “I’m not the one who’s out of time,” he says, hearing the Quinjet come up behind him. 

“Loki, drop the weapon and stand down,” Natasha warns. Steve grins. He likes her authoritative voice. Lokie fires, Natasha dodges, and Steve attacks. 

Loki seems to have enhanced strength and his speed is nothing to laugh at either. But something’s off with the way he’s moving. It’s not nearly as fluid as his fighting style suggests it should be. Steve lands on the ground, and a hard rod is placed at the base of his skull. “Kneel,” Loki hisses.

“Not today,” Steve growls. He shoves the staff away and executes a spinning kick to Loki’s face. Loki brushes it off and knocks him to the ground again, preparing for an attack when - Steve grins. A rock song starts playing over the Quinjet’s system, and a repulsor blast comes out of nowhere, knocking Loki on his ass. 

“Make your move, Reindeer Games,” Iron Man says, landing and aiming several small missiles at Loki’s face. Wisely, Loki raises his hands. “Good move.”

Steve sets himself beside Tony and says, “Mr. Stark,” his amusement poorly concealed. 

“Captain,” Tony says, equally as amused.

~~~~~~

“I’d sit this one out, Cap,” Natasha says. Steve can hear the worry in her voice. 

“I don’t see how I can,” Steve says, making his apology clear.

“Those guys come from legends, they’re basically gods.”

Steve grins at her as he buckles his parachute. “There’s only one God, ma’am, and I’m pretty sure He doesn’t dress like that.” A smirk crosses her face. Steve hasn’t been to church since before he crashed, and Natasha knows that. Steve likes making her smile. He takes a split second to burn it into his memory and then jumps out of the plane, shield first.

~~~~~~

“Uh, no, bad call! He loves his hammer!” Fuck, Tony seriously needs to learn how to keep his mouth shut.

“You want me to put the hammer down?” The myth roars. He leaps into the air and brings the hammer slamming down onto Steve’s shield. The resulting wave of sound knocks the three of them onto the ground, as well as every tree in a few feet radius. 

The three of them stand up and eye each other warily. “We done here?” Steve asks, slumping in response when both other men nod. “Fuck, guys we killed the trees!” He whines, clapping Tony on the shoulder.

“That’s what you’re worried about, Steve?” Tony’s mask flips up to reveal his incredulous face. “Poindexter here nearly killed me!”

Steve scoffs. “Please. As if anyone but Pepper could kill you.” 

Tony opens his mouth and then shuts it again after a few seconds of consideration. “Fair.”

“Who is this Pepper?” The other blond man booms. “I should like to meet them.”

“Pepper is the love of this moron’s life. She keeps him alive and in relatively good condition,” Steve says, removing the cowl. “Steve. That’s Tony.”

“Thor, son of Odin.” Steve nods at him. 

“Sorry about the beating,” Tony says, “I reacted to you taking the only one who can tell us where the Tesseract is.”

“I should have announced myself properly,” Thor says, “The fault lies with me.”

“Are you boys done beating each other up, or should I come back later?” Natasha’s voice is a welcome distraction in Steve’s ear. 

“We need to get Loki, but we’re done,” Steve says. Thor swings his hammer and flies off, coming back moments later and dropping Loki on the ground in front of him. “All set, Romanoff.” 

~~~~~~

“He has an army called the Chitauri. They’re not of Asgard, nor of any world known. He means to lead them against your people. They will win him the earth, in return, I suspect, for the Tesseract.” Thor explains.

“An army,” Steve says. “From outer space.” Because that might as well happen. 

“So, he’s building another portal. That’s what he needs Erik Selvig for.” Banner says. 

“Selvig?”

“He’s an astrophysicist.”

“He’s a friend,” Thor says firmly.

“Loki has him under some sort of spell, along with one of ours,” Natasha says - the pain in her voice is well-hidden from those who don’t know her. But Steve knows her. A knot in his throat grows tighter at the reminder of Clint. 

“I wanna know why Loki let us take him,” Steve says, “He’s not leading an army from here."

“I don’t think we should be focusing on Loki. That guy’s brain is a bag full of cats - you could smell crazy on him.” Banner says, perhaps less carefully than he should. 

And indeed, Thor jumps to Loki’s defence. “Have care how you speak. Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard. And he is my brother.”

“He killed eighty people in two days,” Natasha says dryly. Steve holds back a snort.

“He’s adopted,” Thor says sheepishly. At that, Steve lets a snort out. After that, the conversation moves onto why Loki needed the iridium, which of course, is when Tony walks in speaking to Coulson softly, something about Portland? Tony applies his specific brand of Stark charm to the situation, and Steve has to stop himself from looking at Natasha multiple times and rolling his eyes. 

Tony sticks something on the side of a computer and Steve huffs out a breath. Nobody else notices, but Steve does, if only because Howard would have done the same thing. 

“When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?” Hill asks skeptically.

“Last night.” Tony is so unapologetic about his genius. Steve loves it. Tony devolves into science with Bruce, exclaiming, “Finally, someone who speaks English!”

“Is that what just happened?” Steve asks, bewildered. He sees Natasha’s lips twitch out of the corner of his eye and grins to himself. Any day he can make her smile is a good day in his book. Well, her and Cli- Steve sucks in a breath carefully, turning his mind away from that thought and back to the conversation. “I’d start with that stick of his,” Steve says, “It may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a Hydra weapon.”

“I don’t know about that,” Fury says quickly - almost too quickly, in Steve’s opinion. “But it is powered by the Cube. I’d also like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.”

“Monkeys?” Thor asks, “I do not understand.”

“I do!” Steve says, sitting up, “I understood that reference.” He can  _ feel _ Tony’s eye roll from behind him. Tony and Bruce break away to do some genius science stuff and Natasha leaves as well, with a subtle glance at Steve. Steve gets up out of the chair and follows after her. He loses sight of her after the third turn she makes and nearly trips over when a hand shoots out of a room and pulls him in, shutting the door behind him. “Fuck, I missed you, Natasha, so much,” Steve breathes, wrapping her in his arms and holding her tightly.

“I missed you too, Steve.” She tucks herself into his hold and they stand in silence for a while, just enjoying each others presence. When she shifts slightly, Steve lets her go and slumps into a chair. 

“What happened?” Steve asks.

“I was on assignment, in the middle of an interrogation when Coulson called me. He told me that Clint had been compromised so I wrapped up my assignment and called you. Came straight here to be briefed by Coulson, and that’s when you got here.” She sits next to him and tucks her feet underneath his thigh. The familiar act makes his breath catch in his throat and he wraps an arm around her shoulders. “Clint was watching the Tesseract when Loki came through. He tried to protect it but Loki put him and Selvig under some sort of spell using his staff. Clint shot at Nick, trapped Hill underneath dozens of feet of rock, and helped Loki escape. He hasn’t been seen since.”

“We’ll get him back, Natasha,” Steve swears, “We’ll bring him home.” The two of them sit in silence for a while, just basking in each other’s company. “I need to go talk to Tony,” Steve says, “But I want you to know that I love you and Clint, and nothing on this world or any other could change that. You’re stuck with me, Romanoff.” He kisses her gently and heads to the lab, rolling his eyes when he sees Tony poke Dr. Banner with something. “That man…” Steve mutters, striding into the lab. “Hey!”

~~~~~~

“Steve, tell me none of this smells a little funky to you,” Banner says, trying to defuse the supposed tension between Steve and Tony. 

Steve looks at Tony - eyes twinkling - and says, “Just find the Cube.” He strides out of the lab, makes a show of being indecisive, then turns around and follows a couple of agents down a nondescript hallway. 

~~~~~~

Steve wanders around the helicarrier for a while, not really sure what he’s looking for - just knowing that he’ll know it when he finds it. After about half an hour of aimless wandering, he comes upon a metal door that has far too much security for a simple ‘storage closet’. He pulls the door open with only a little bit of trouble, leaps onto a railing and goes exploring.

~~~~~~

What he finds makes his gorge rise, and he has to look away and take a few deep breaths before the nausea goes away.

~~~~~~

“What is Phase Two?” Tony says.

Steve storms into the lab and drops the Hydra gun on a table. “Phase Two is SHIELD uses the Cube to make weapons. Sorry, computer was moving a little slow for me.” Tony smirks and Fury tries to justify himself but Steve doesn’t want to hear it. “I was wrong, Director. The world hasn’t changed a bit.”

Natasha and Thor walk in, and the tension rises even further. “You want to think about removing yourself from this environment, Doctor?” Natasha says. 

“I was in Calcutta, I was pretty well removed.” Bruce spits.

Steve notices the staff humming at a high-pitched tone, but no one else is reacting. Everyone devolves into arguments, Steve and Tony both saying things they normally wouldn’t. Steve  _ knows _ the staff is behind this surge of feelings, but there’s nothing he can do about it without escalating things further. 

“Why shouldn’t the man let off a little steam?” Tony asks, putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“You know damn well why, back off!” Steve says, a wave of irrational anger washing over him.

“Oh, I’m starting to want you to make me.”

Steve scoffs. “Yeah, big man in a suit or armour. Take that off and what are you?”

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” Tony says, not missing a beat.

“I know guys with none of that worth ten of you.” It’s like Steve is a passenger in his own body, unable to stop the poison spewing from his lips. “I’ve seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself.” He’s vaguely aware they’re the only two still talking, but the thought registers and vanishes like smoke in the wind. “You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.”

“I think I would just cut the wire,” Tony spits, but Steve can see the hurt in his eyes. 

“Always a way out,” Steve smirks cruelly, “You may not be a threat but you better stop pretending to be a hero.”

“A hero? Like you?” Tony says, eyes flashing. “You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle.” That hurts. Tony knows how much that one hurts, and he says it anyway. 

Steve won’t hold it against him even though there’s a little voice at the back of his mind telling him to say something cruel, something that will hurt Tony. Steve swallows the vitriol that is his first instinct and instead says, “Put on the suit, let’s go a few rounds.”

Thor laughs. Dr. Banner gets frustrated and grabs the staff. After that, things happen in flashes.

~~~~~~

An engine explodes, and Natasha and Bruce go flying through a window. “Put on the suit,” Steve says to Tony breathlessly. 

“Yep!” Tony says, and the two of them race out of the lab.

~~~~~~

“Romanoff?” Fury’s voice sounds over the comms and Steve’s heart stops, then starts again.

“We’re okay.” Natasha’s voice sounds. A few seconds pass, and then, “We’re okay, right?”

She sounds scared. Steve knows she can take care of herself, but he still feels the urge to go after her. But more people will die if this helicarrier goes down.

~~~~~~

It’s cold 30,000 feet up. Steve pushes away the memories and stares at the control panel. He blinks. “It seems to run on some form of electricity!”

Stark snorts. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

~~~~~~

“That stator control unit can reverse the polarity long enough to disengage the maglev and that should -” 

“Speak English!” Steve interrupts.

“See that red lever? It’ll slow the rotors down long enough for me to get out. Stand by it and wait for my word.” Steve looks around and spotting the red lever, takes a flying leap, landing safely beside it.

~~~~~~

“It was Barton. He took out our systems. He’s headed for the detention level!” Fury calls over comms. “Does anybody copy?” Steve’s heart stops when no one responds. 

He’s about to say something, engines be damned, when Natasha says, “This is Agent Romanoff. I copy.”

Steve grins and pulls the trigger on the gun he’s holding, doing his best to keep the hostiles at bay. A stray bullet gets a little too close and Steve slips backward, falling off the platform. He grabs onto a loose wire and holds on tight.

~~~~~~

“Cap, hit the lever.”

“I need a minute here!” Steve yells, pulling himself up the wire.

“Lever!” Tony cries, urgency increasing. “Now!”

Steve reaches the platform and yanks the lever. Seconds later, Tony flies into the man shooting at him and sighs.

~~~~~~

“Agent Coulson is down.” Steve sucks in a breath, horrified.

“A medical team is on it’s way to your location.”

“They’re here,” says Fury. “They called it.”

Steve is silent, so is Tony. He can only imagine how Natasha is feeling. Coulson brought her in, he brought Clint in. Coulson was more than a handler to them, he was their friend, their family. 

Later, when Steve, Tony, Fury and Hill are in the command centre, Fury pulls a dirty trick. “These were in Phil Coulson’s jacket. I guess he never did get you to sign them.” He tosses Coulson’s trading cards on the table, covered in blood. “We’re dead in the air up here. Our communications, the location of the Cube, Banner, Thor…” He pauses. Steve stares at the bloody card, shocked into silence. 

Coulson wouldn’t have taken these out of his locker for anything. Certainly not to just have them in his pocket. Sure, Steve understands why Fury is pulling this, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

“I got nothing for you,” Fury says. “I lost my one good eye. Maybe I had that coming.” He walks around the table towards Steve. “Yes, we were going to build an arsenal with the Tesseract. I never put all my chips on that number, though, because I was playing something riskier.” Steve has to hold in a scoff. Fury is a manipulative son of a bitch for sure, but he’s a damn smooth talker. “There was an idea - Stark knows this - called the Avengers Initiative. The idea was to bring together a group of remarkable people to see if they could be something more. To see if they could work together when we needed them to, to fight the battles that we never could. Phil Coulson died still believing in that idea. In heroes.”

Tony gets up and walks away. Steve is almost going to follow him when Fury says, “Well, it’s an old-fashioned notion.”

~~~~~~

Steve goes to find Natasha. He’s not expecting her to be sitting in the same room she pulled him into earlier, only this time Clint is strapped to the bed, grunting, sweating and shaking. A sob catches in his throat and he goes to take Clint’s hand, but Natasha stops him. She looks at him and shakes her head, then turns back to Clint. “Clint. You’re going to be alright.”

“You know that?” Clint says, smiling. It’s not a nice smile. “Is that what you know?” Natasha gets up and pours some water. “I got no window. I gotta flush him out.”

“You have to level out. It’s going to take time.”

“You don’t understand,” mumbles Clint. “Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out and stuff something else in? Do you know what it’s like to be unmade?” His eyes roll over to Steve and widen slightly, just realizing that he is there. Steve stays silent and unmoving, not wanting to disrupt whatever’s happening.

“You know that I do,” says Natasha softly. 

Clint exhales loudly. “Why am I back?” He asks, confused. “How’d you get him out?”

“Cognitive recalibration,” Natasha says, sitting on the bed. “I hit you really hard on the head.”

“Thanks,” Clint says. His muscles bunch as Natasha undoes the leather restraints holding him down. “Natasha…” He sucks in a breath. “How many agents did I -”

“Don’t.” Steve bursts. Both his loves heads snap towards him, seeming shocked he’s still there. “Don’t do that to yourself, Clint.”

“This is Loki,” Natasha continues, “This is monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for.” She takes Clint’s hand tightly and Steve walks over to take the other one. Something in Clint relaxes minutely when they’re both touching him, grounding him.

“Loki, he get away?” Clint asks.

“Yeah,” Natasha says softly. “Don’t suppose you know where.”

“I didn’t need to know,” Clint says. Natasha gets off the bed and Clint sits up, still holding Steve’s hand tightly, like he’s scared Steve’s going to let go. Steve doesn’t. He  _ wouldn’t _ . “I didn’t ask. He’s going to make his play soon, though.” With his free hand, he reaches for the water shakily. Steve watches him drink it, eyes glued to the flutter of Clint’s pulse in his throat. “Today.”

“We’ve got to stop him,” Steve says, squeezing Clint’s hand.

“Who’s we?” Clint asks.

“Whoever’s left,” Natasha responds.

“I missed you, Clint,” Steve says, burying his face in Clint’s neck. “More than life itself, I missed you. I love you, you know that?”

“Even after all this?” Clint says shakily.

Steve pulls his head from Clint’s neck and makes Clint look at him, finger on his chin. “Especially after all this. You survived Loki and came back to me. I love you despite your sins, just as I love Natasha. There is nothing you could do or say that would make me stop loving you, understand?” Clint doesn’t look convinced. Steve pulls Natasha over as well and kneels in front of them. “Do you remember what I said the day I told you how I felt about the two of you?”

“Something about dogs with wigs?” Clint says, smiling self-deprecatingly.

“I said I wanted to fall asleep to your breathing and wake up to your heartbeats. I said I never wanted to spend another day without seeing your smiles. I said I loved you. Have I ever given you any reason to doubt that?” He searches their faces and when they both shake their heads, he smiles softly. “Then why would my feelings have changed between then and now? If anything, they’ve gotten stronger.” He plants a soft kiss on their entwined fingers.

“Feelings, no,” Clint says, but it’s half-hearted at best. Steve grins. 

“It’s okay if you need time, Clint,” He says, “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Both of you.” He stands and kisses Clint on the forehead, then does the same to Natasha. “I love you.” 

“Well, if I put an arrow through Loki’s eye socket, I would sleep better, I suppose.” Steve huffs a laugh at Clint’s snark, pulling him close.

“Now you sound like you,” Natasha grins.

“But you don’t,” Clint says softly, “What did Loki to you?” Steve kisses the both of them on the forehead and leaves them to talk, leaving the room and going in search of Tony. He finds him staring at the space where Hulk’s cage used to be. 

“Was he married?” Steve asks, leaning against a railing.

“No,” says Tony, “There was a cellist, I think.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, “He was a good man.”

“He was an idiot for taking on Loki alone. He should’ve waited, we could’ve helped!” Tony says. Steve walks over and puts a hand on his shoulder silently. The two men stand there in companionable silence, remembering the man they knew. 

“Fury has the same blood on his hands that Loki does,” Steve says softly, meeting Tony’s eyes. 

Tony blinks, fury filling his face. “He made it personal.”

“That’s not the point,” Steve says.

“That is the point. That’s Loki’s point,” Tony says, his brain working overtime. “He hit us all right where we live, why?”

“To tear us apart,” Steve says. He watches curiously to see where Tony’s headed with this.

“Yeah, divide and conquer is great but he knows he has to take us out to win, right? That’s what he wants. He wants to beat us, to be seen doing it. He wants an audience.”

Clueing in, Steve says, “Right. I caught his act in Stuttgart.”

“That was previews, this is opening night,” Tony says, pacing. “And Loki, he’s a full-tilt diva, right?” Steve nods. “He wants flowers, he wants parades, he wants a monument built to the skies with his name plastered - son of a bitch.” Realization hits Tony in the face and Steve follows moments later, the two of them racing out of the room and splitting off in different directions.

~~~~~~

Steve goes back to the room Natasha and Clint were in and slides the door open. “Time to go,” he says, seeing only Natasha. “Can you fly one of those jets?” 

The bathroom door opens and Clint walks out, drying his hands on a towel. “I can.” Steve looks at him, then at Natasha, taking advantage of the longer time she’s known Clint.

“You got a suit?” Steve asks. He actually doesn’t know if Clint does, he’s never seen him wear it. Clint nods. “Then suit up.” He kisses Natasha, then drags Clint in as well, holding the two of them close. “When we get back, I’m making dinner and we are going to sit on the couch and watch Dog Cops until our eyes bleed.” He murmurs. Clint snorts, surprised, and Natasha rolls her eyes. 

“You two can do that,” she says, raising an eyebrow, “I’ll be sleeping naked.” 

Steve chokes and looks at Clint. Simultaneously, they say, “Changed my mind, your idea’s better.” 

Natasha laughs. It’s a beautiful sound.

~~~~~~

They walk onto a Quinjet, fully prepared to hijack the thing when a tech pops up and says, “Hey, you guys aren’t authorized to be in here.”

Steve holds up a hand. “Son, just don’t.” Clint snorts beside him and the tech runs out of the aircraft. Steve yelps as a hand pinches his butt. 

“Mmmm, you should pull out the Cap persona more often, Steve,” Natasha leers. “Clint likey.” Steve’s eyes flick to Clint - whose cheeks are pink and he won’t meet Steve’s gaze.

Steve grins. “Add it to the list.”

“There’s a list?” Clint cries. “How come no one ever told me there was a list?”

~~~~~~

**ain’t no party like a genderqueer party**

**Disaster Bi:** _ get out of NYC right now. no time to explain. trust me please _

**Barney:** _ you know we trust you whats up _

**In Love With Steve:** _ oooo sexy weekend getaway _

**Taste the Rainbow:** _ shut up jake i think hes serious _

**Disaster Bi:** _ guys im not kidding you need to leave right now and if you cant leave you need to take shelter in a basement or a bunker or something _

**Majestic Lion:** _ guys i think hes serious steve whats going on _

**Disaster Bi:** _ I’ll explain next time I see you. Please take cover!!!! _

**Rat:** _ o shit he used punctuation im coming to get all of you in my jeep we will stick it out in jakes bunker _

**Barney:** _ jake has a bunker?!? _

**In Love With Steve:** _ yeah i do alex it was my grandpas from ww2 its in our basement _

**Disaster Bi:** _ Stay in the bunker. Don’t come out no matter what. Take anyone you can find with you.  _

**Disaster Bi:** _ I love you guys. Be safe. _

**Barney:** _ You’re worrying us, Steve. What’s going on? _

**In Love With Steve:** _ steve-o??? _

**Rat:** _ jess im here you ready _

**Majestic Lion:** _just a sec_

**Taste the Rainbow:** _ Steve Robertson, you answer your phone right this goddamn second! _

**Rat:** _ jake im outside _

**Rat:** _ alex hurry get here weird shit is happening in the sky _

**Rat:** _ darce we gotta go theres like aliens and shit _

~~~~~~

“What the fuck.” Steve curses as a beam of blue light shoots up from the top of Stark Tower, opening a hole in the middle of the sky.  _ Things _ start pouring out and a flash of light goes right up the middle, setting off explosions as it goes. Steve grins viciously. “There you go, Tony.”

The Quinjet lowers a gun and fires on a string of Chitauri, killing several before rounding on Loki, currently fighting Thor. Loki fires on the Quinjet and they go down. Steve grabs onto the ceiling and holds tight. “Clint, bring us down!”

“Trying!” Clint yells, struggling at the controls. The jet hits the ground hard, but the three of them run outside and stare at the sky.

“We need to get back up there!” Steve cries, before a terrible groaning cuts him off. Their gazes are drawn to the hole in the sky, and Steve’s mouth drops open in horror as  _ something _ comes through. It’s armoured beyond belief and looks like a worm with teeth. “Tony, you seeing this?

“Seeing, still working on believing. Banner arrive yet?”

“Banner?” Steve says in confusion.

“Just keep me posted,” Tony says, exasperated. 

“Looks like we’re on the ground for now,” Steve says. Clint, Natasha and Steve take cover behind a burnt out taxi.

“We’ve got civilians trapped here, Steve,” Clint says. Loki flies by controlling a Chitauri weapon and fires on the street, causing mayhem and explosions.

“They’re fish in a barrel down there,” Steve mutters. A shot breaks the window directly beside his face and he flinches out of the way. 

Natasha fires her weapons at the oncoming Chitauri soldiers, then turns to Steve and says, “We got this, go.”

“You think you can hold them off?”

Clint grins at him. “Captain,” he drawls, quiver whirring, “It would be my genuine pleasure.” Steve grins and fights off the urge to tell them he loves them, then vaults over a bridge and onto a bus, then onto a car when the bus explodes. He runs down the street and comes upon a squad of cops, firing into the wave of aliens. 

“You need men in these buildings,” Steve says, pointing. “There are civilians inside and they’ll be running straight into the line of fire. You take them to the basements or through the subway, but you keep them off the streets! I need a perimeter as far back as 39th.”

“Why the hell should I take orders from you?” The man in charge asks. Explosions sound behind Steve and he whirls, only to have two Chitauri soldiers drop on either side of him. He slams his shield into the face of one, then turns and punches the other in the face. He severs the arm of Ugly #1 and breaks the neck of Ugly #2, all in less than twenty seconds.

The man in charge turns on his radio and says, “I need men in these buildings. Lead the civilians down and away from the streets!” Steve smirks, vaults off the taxi he was standing on, and rushes back onto the street, heading back towards Clint and Natasha. He gets there just in time to watch Natasha steal an energy spear and use it on several Chitauri. He jumps in front of Clint and mutters, “Am I the only one with a major boner for Natasha right now?”

Clint snorts. “No, no you are not.” A bolt of lightning comes out of nowhere and slams into the Chitauri, killing them. Thor lands on the ground in front of them with a thud.

“What’s the story upstairs?” Steve asks.

“The barrier surrounding the Cube is impenetrable,” says Thor.

“Thor’s right, we gotta deal with these guys,” says Tony as he flies over them.

“How do we do this?” asks Natasha.

“As a team,” says Steve, ignoring Clint’s snort.

“I have unfinished business with Loki,” Thor says.

Clint scoffs. “Yeah? Well, get in line.”

“Save it,” Steve says firmly, “Loki’s going to keep the fight focused on us and that’s what we need. Without him, these things could run wild. We’ve got Stark up top, he’s gonna need us to -” The sound of an approaching motorcycle cuts him off and he whirls around to see Banner driving up slowly.

“So, this all seems horrible,” Banner says dryly.

“I’ve seen worse.” Natasha watches him warily.

“Sorry.”

“No, we could use a little worse.”

“Tony, we got him,” says Steve.

“Banner?”

“Just like you said.”

“Then tell him to suit up. I’m bringing the party to you.” Tony rounds the corner seconds later, bringing with him one of the armoured worms. Thor snarls.

“I don’t see how that’s a party,” Natasha says.

Banner turns around and walks towards the thing, still human. “Dr. Banner,” Steve says, striding forwards, “Now might be a really good time for you to get angry.”

“That’s my secret, Cap,” Banner says, “I’m always angry.” His shirt explodes outwards and his skin turns green, and within seconds, the Hulk has emerged and punched the worm right in the nose, stopping it cold. Tony tells them to hold on and fires a missile at it, causing it to explode and its guts rain down on them. Natasha ducks under Steve’s shield and he crouches over them, his eyes finding Clint taking shelter beside a flipped over car.

The worm lands on the street below them, dead, but their victory is fleeting. Natasha calls their attention to the hole in the sky - which has just released more soldiers and two more worms. “Call it, Captain,” Tony says.

“Alright. Until we can close that portal, our priority is containment. Barton, I want you on that roof. Eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays. Stark, you got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or you turn it to ash.” Tony grabs Clint and flies away, dropping him on the roof. “Thor, you gotta try and bottleneck that portal. Slow ‘em down. You got the lightning, light the bastards up.” Thor nods and spins his hammer, disappearing into the sky. Steve turns to Natasha. “You and me are on the ground. We keep the fighting here. And Hulk?” Hulk grunts at him. Steve grins. “Smash.” Hulk bares his teeth and jumps off the ground, flying into a building and slamming some soldiers into the concrete. Everything after that is a blur. 

~~~~~~

Natasha jumps off his shield and hitches a ride with a Chitauri passing by overhead. Steve would watch in awe, but he can do that later. Not like she’s ever going to stop being amazing.

~~~~~~

Tony fires his repulsors at the shield and they bounce off, killing three Chitauri soldiers in one fell swoop.

~~~~~~

**Missed Calls From:** _ Barney (4), Majestic Lion (5), Rat (6), In Love With Steve (5), Taste the Rainbow (8) _

**ain’t no party like a genderqueer party:** _ 82 new notifications _

~~~~~~

Steve goes to a bank, stops a bomb, and gets thrown out a window. He lands on a car a breaks a rib or two. “Standard trip to the bank, I guess.”

~~~~~~

There’s an explosion above him, and when he looks up, he catches Loki flying into Stark Tower and Hulk going after him. Steve smirks. “Have fun with that.”

~~~~~~

One of the worms explodes from the inside out - implodes? - and Steve sees a flash of red and gold go flying and vanish behind a building.

~~~~~~

Glass shatters and Clint grunts in pain.

~~~~~~

Steve is fighting alongside Thor, slamming his shield into Chitauri soldiers when he takes a gut shot directly from an energy beam and falls to the ground with a groan. Thor helps him up and says, “Ready for another bout?”

“What, you getting sleepy?” Steve snarks.

“I can close it,” Natasha says over the comms. “Can anybody copy? I can shut the portal down.”

“Do it!” Steve shouts.

“No!” Tony says, Wait!”

“Tony, these things are still coming!”

“I’ve got a nuke coming in,” Tony says urgently, “It’s going to blow in less than a minute. And I know just where to put it.”

“Tony, that’s a one-way trip!” Steve says. Tony doesn’t respond. Steve watches as Tony flies above Stark Tower, directly at the hole in the sky. He flies through it and his comms go dead. 

Four seconds pass. All the Chitauri soldiers and armoured worms drop dead.

Eight seconds. A bright light appears from the other side of the hole.

“Close it,” says Steve tiredly. Natasha grunts over the comms and then, all of a sudden, the beam of blue light stops and the hole in the sky collapses in on itself. Half a second before it closes, Steve sees something fall out. “Son of a gun,” he grins. His joy fades as Tony keeps falling. 

“He’s not slowing down!” Thor says, swinging his hammer. The Hulk roars and slams into Tony’s falling body, crashing into a building and then landing on a car and shoving Tony’s body off him. Steve and Thor rush over. 

“Is he breathing?” Steve asks. Thor pulls off the facemask and Steve leans in to hear Tony’s breath. Only, there is none. He sits back, hand on top of the suit. 

Hulk roars loudly and Tony gasps, his eyes flying open. “What the hell?” He says breathlessly. “What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me.”

Steve grins and falls back onto his haunches. “We won.”

Tony sighs and his head falls back, making a clanking sound on the concrete. “Woo! Alright, yay. Hooray, good job guys! Let’s just not come in tomorrow - let’s just take a day. Have you ever tried shawarma? There’s a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don’t know what it is, but I wanna try it.”

“We’re not finished yet,” Thor says, drawing their attention. 

Steve looks at him and Tony groans. “And then shawarma after.” 

They head up to the Tower, picking up Natasha and Clint on the way. When they get there, Loki is trying to crawl up the stairs. He turns around, sees them, and says, “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll have that drink now.” Nobody bothers to answer him.

~~~~~~

When Loki is in SHIELD’s custody - much more secure this time - Tony makes good on his promise and takes them all out for shawarma. Steve thinks it’s pretty good, but he was half asleep for the whole meal, and just barely managed to stay awake on the drive back to SHIELD HQ for the debriefing. Natasha and Clint use each other to prop themselves up in their chairs while they eat, Bruce nearly faceplants into his food several times, Tony orders three of the biggest coffees this place has, and Thor - well, Thor chows down like it’s his last meal.

Steve could get used to this, he thinks.

~~~~~~

Three days later, news stations are still talking about the confirmed extraterrestrial attack on New York and the efforts of the Avengers to stop it. Steve gets it, he does, really. Wow, aliens exist, that’s so cool, blah blah blah. But Steve is tired. He has been debriefed by SHIELD and the World Security Council until his throat is raw, he hasn’t been home in almost a week, and all he wants to do is curl up on the couch with his loves and do nothing.

But no. The Avengers have been tasked with escorting Loki and the Tesseract back to the spot where Thor is going to open a magical gateway that lets him travel between worlds to take his murderous, adopted brother home where he can face justice the ‘Asgardian way’. 

Because that might as well happen. 

Steve leans against a barrier, Natasha tucked on one side and Clint leaning against his shoulder on the other. His eyes narrow as Dr. Selvig puts the Tesseract in an Asgardian container and hands it to Thor. Clint intertwines their fingers and Steve’s shoulders slump. If he never sees that thing again, it’ll be too soon.

“Shame he’s leaving,” Natasha says as they watch Loki be manhandled by Thor, “I owe him a shock to the balls.” Clint grins widely and Steve snorts. Thor and Loki take hold of the container and Thor turns his handle, sending the two of them and that stupid blue rock far, far away. They disappear and Steve shakes hands with Tony. 

“Come for dinner soon, yeah? Pepper wants to meet the three of you.” Tony says, smiling softly. Steve agrees and climbs onto his bike, following Natasha and Clint back home. The second they walk into their apartment, Steve collapses onto the couch, barely even grunting when Clint flops on top of him and Natasha on top of him.

“So… tired…” Steve groans.

“Nap cuddles?” Clint says hopefully. Steve snorts and lets Clint pull them up and lead them to the bedroom. 

“Feel free to use my body how you see fit,” Steve mumbles, shucking off his clothes and falling facefirst onto the bed, landing with a bounce.

“Normally, I’d take you up on that,” Clint says, running a hand up Steve’s spine, “But I think I just want to be held and sleep.”

“We can do that,” Natasha says, stripping as well. Before long, they’re all in their underwear, wrapped up in each other. Natasha falls asleep first, her breathing enough to soothe Clint into a restful sleep. 

Eventually, Steve’s eyes start to drift shut. He doesn’t fight it. And for the first time in a while, Steve Rogers drifts off to sleep, warm and safe, wrapped in the arms of the people he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Epilogue will be up either tomorrow or April 17, I haven't decided yet. Let me know what you think!


	5. Epilogue: After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve has friends and partners, and we see the aftermath of the Battle of New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I was impatient and also the Bad Decisions Discord convinced me to post the epilogue today instead of on the 19 like I was planning. 
> 
> One final thanks to my beta @tomorraw on tumblr (seriously. check her out.) ! I could not have done any of this without her.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

**Epilogue - After**

_Steve knew something was wrong the second those doors slid closed. Bucky could take care of himself, Steve knew that. That didn’t stop him from worrying. He would always worry about Bucky._

_He leaped up and grabbed the hook hanging from the ceiling, propelling himself forwards and blocking a blast from the energy gun with the shield. His feet slam into the armoured person’s chest and he falls over, knocked unconscious after a blow to the head by Steve’s shield. Steve lifts the energy gun and fires it, blasting the door blocking him from Bucky to scrap._

_He hides himself against the wall and opens the door, tossing his gun to Bucky. They don’t speak, but they don’t need words to communicate. Never have. Steve slams himself into one of the containers on the shelf and Bucky shoots the Hydra agent, killing him. “I had him on the ropes,” Bucky complains._

_“I know you did,” Steve says. He goes to say something else, but the whine of a charging energy weapon interrupts him. He wheels around to see the armoured man aiming his gun at them. “Get down!” He screams, shoving Bucky behind him. The gun fires and knocks him off his feet. The side of the train explodes open, exposing them to the hundred-foot drop over the side of the mountain. The shield clatters to the ground and Bucky picks it up, firing the gun at the armoured man._

_Steve knows that Bucky won’t be able to survive a blast from that gun, even holding the shield. “Fire again! Kill him, now!” Steve registers the voice as Zola’s. Before he can take the shield back, the armoured man fires again. And knocks Bucky out of the train._

_Steve’s heart freezes over. He hurls the shield at the armoured man, his hearing picking up the crunch of metal through bone as it connects. Steve rips off his helmet and races over to the hole in the train, relief flashing through him when he sees Bucky holding onto a rail. “Bucky!” He screams, terror filling his voice._

_“Hang on!” Just a few more steps and he’ll be able to grab Bucky and never let him go again._

_“Grab my hand!” Steve reaches out for him, and for a moment, it looks like Bucky will grab his hand. They’ll laugh about this, Steve thinks, when they’re home. And then the rail rips away from the wall with a screech of iron, taking Bucky over the side of the mountain. “NO!” Steve screams so loudly that he tastes copper. Bucky’s scream as he falls will stay with Steve forever._

_And for a split second, Steve’s fingers start to lose their grip. He swayed forwards, eyes still locked onto where he saw the love of his life fall to his death._

_And then his reflexes - his_ stupid serum reflexes _\- catch up to his body and his fingers tighten around the rail, holding him still. Keeping him away from Bucky._

_Bucky, his Bucky. Steve lets loose a wordless cry that melds with the howl of the train until it seems like the whole world is crying out at the loss of Bucky Barnes. As it should be, Steve thought._

_As it_ goddamn _well should be._

Steve wakes with a scream, fighting his way loose of the blankets wrapped around him. He vaults over the lumps in the bed and stands in the centre of the room, chest heaving. “Steve?” A voice says from the bed, and Steve whips around. “It’s just us, it’s just Clint and Natasha.”

Steve doesn’t know a Clint or a Natasha. Steve doesn’t know where he - oh. All at once, the breath whooshes out of Steve and he collapses to the floor, like a puppet whose had his strings cut. Someone’s keening and sobbing, and Steve belatedly realizes that it’s him. “I should’ve killed him, it’s my fault!” He gasps out through his sobs, pulling at his hair.

Clint gets out of bed and approaches him slowly. He kneels down in front of Steve and Steve absentmindedly notes that he’s naked. “My fault, my fault, my fault…” Steve mutters, rocking back and forth. Clint makes no move to touch him, just remains kneeling in front of him. Natasha’s there too.

Steve _knows_ that he should have seen her move. He didn’t. And he doesn’t care. “Steve,” Natasha says softly, “Can I touch you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just keeps muttering to himself and running _that moment_ over and over again in his mind. If he had just killed the guy earlier. If he had just been a little faster climbing out of the train. If, if, if…

“Steve.” Natasha again. “I’m going to touch your shoulder now.” Then there’s a pressure on his shoulder, and despite the warning, Steve flinches violently. The pressure stays and Steve realizes it’s Natasha’s hand. “Can you tell us what your nightmare was about?”

Steve shakes his head furiously and keeps rocking, going slightly faster. “That’s okay,” Clint soothes, placing his hand on Steve’s other shoulder. “After Loki, after -” Coulson, he doesn’t say, “I couldn’t talk about mine either,” Clint never talks about Loki. Ever. “I stayed awake for days on end, getting no sleep. I was practically falling asleep standing up. I was also hypervigilant, so you can imagine what a great combination that was.”

Steve knows. He was there. He and Natasha were the ones who coerced Clint into bed with sex and then held him there until he slept. And held him some more when he woke up, screaming himself hoarse.

“I was lucky enough to have two people who I love and trust very much to help me through them.” Clint moves a little closer, the heat of his body warming Steve’s left side. He’s cold, Steve realizes absently. Near freezing. A hysterical chuckle forces its way out of his throat, and he laughs suddenly. Two seconds later, he’s sobbing into Natasha’s lap, holding onto their hands for dear life.

“It’s my fault,” he cries hoarsely, “All my fault.”

Clint and Natasha say nothing, just keep petting his hair and sides soothingly. Eventually, Steve calms down enough to tell them what his nightmare was about. “It was the mission Bucky died. I’ll never forget that day, not ever. It’s burned into my memory forever. I’ve lived that mission over and over countless times, wondering what I could do differently. If I was faster. If I was more ruthless. I saw the look in his eyes when he fell. He was terrified. And there was nothing I could do to save him.”

Clint says nothing, just keeps rubbing his back and holding his hand. Natasha, on the other hand… “You’re right. It is your fault.” Steve’s head snaps up to look at her, hurt. “If you had been faster, you might have gotten to him in time. Or you might have fallen off the train with him.” Steve opens his mouth but Natasha closes it for him. “If you were more ruthless, you could have stopped the train from blowing open. Or there could have been another soldier who would have killed both of you. If you had never accepted Erskine’s serum, you would be dead for sure and Bucky would likely have followed you. You can’t change the past, Steve. Accept that you have made mistakes, costly ones, and move past them. Do your best to atone for them. Work every single day to make Bucky proud of the man that you are today. Pay him all the respect he is due and do right by him.”

Somehow Natasha always knows what to say. Steve bursts into tears again and leans into Clint’s bulk, letting himself be supported by the people he loves as he mourns the one he lost.

~~~~~~

The next morning, Steve wakes up with a headache - which is surprising in and of itself, the serum usually takes care of those in seconds - and to the smell of coffee and bacon. Clint is wrapped around him and Steve smiles softly down at him, running a hand through his hair. The memories of crying himself hoarse last night slam into him and his hand stops its soothing motions on Clint’s head.

Clint grumbles and squishes himself closer. Steve’s hand starts moving automatically, but his mind is a million miles away on a train in the mountains. He remembers crying himself dry. He remembers leaning on Clint and being practically carried to bed. He remembers the soothing murmurs of Natasha and Clint’s voices above him lulling him into a dreamless sleep.

“Stop thinking, too early,” Clint mumbles, his voice muffled.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Steve says lowly.

“Didn’t,” Clint yawns, sitting up and stretching, “Woke up a few minutes before you did, you’re just warm.” He grins at Steve sleepily, and Steve is struck with how pretty Clint is. It’s like when he first met Natasha and the sun came through the window just right, illuminating her profile and lighting her up with a golden glow.

Clint looks ethereal in the soft morning light, and Steve knows that this image will be impressed upon his mind forever. He’s already planning the drawing. “You’re staring,” Clint says, smirking.

“It’s an amazing view,” Steve says simply, not dropping his eyes. Clint turns pink.

“Are you boys done ogling each other, or should I come back later?” Steve’s head turns to see Natasha leaning against the doorframe, grinning, dressed only in one of Steve’s shirts. His heart skips a beat at the sight of her and he vaults out of bed and stalks over to her, sweeping her into a kiss. He pours all his love and respect and trust for her into the kiss, hoping it communicates what he can’t.

“Hell of a good morning,” she says breathlessly when he pulls away.

“Where’s my morning kiss?” Clint pouts, but Steve is already walking over to him. He pulls Clint to him, pressing their chests together and kissing him with just as much feeling as he did Natasha. Clint looks dazed when he pulls away. “Hell of a Steve, kiss.”

Steve snorts. “Glad I have an effect on you, Clint.” Clint shakes his head to clear it and hops out of bed, drawing Steve’s attention to the miles of golden skin covering Clint’s body. He stares openly and unashamed, drinking in the sight of the muscles twisting and moving under Clint’s skin as he pulls on clothes - well, sweatpants, anyway.

“I made breakfast,” Natasha says, “Sex later. Food now.” Steve thinks she caught him staring, which she confirms when she smirks at him and winks. Clint takes his hand and tugs him towards the kitchen, plopping onto his lap when Steve sits down. Natasha serves them and the three of them eat in a comfortable silence.

Steve finishes his food and moves to get up, only hampered by Clint on his lap. “Clint, I need to go,” he says, amused.

“No, you don’t,” Clint says through his mouthful of bacon, “Stay here with us today.”

Steve sighs wistfully. “As much as I would love that, I think I need to speak to my therapist.” He laughs when Clint makes a face. “Some of us don’t hate therapy, Clint. Don’t judge.”

Clint kisses him softly. “Never,” he vows, staring into Steve’s eyes earnestly. Steve kisses him once more, puts his plate in the sink and kisses Natasha on his way by her, then goes into the bedroom and calls Dr. Jones.

~~~~~~

“Is everything alright, Steve? We aren’t supposed to meet for another couple days.” Dr. Jones watches as Steve settles into the chair.

He takes a deep breath. “I dreamt of the day Bucky died last night. When I woke up, I was out of bed standing in the middle of our bedroom and I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know _when_ I was. Clint and Natasha helped bring me back but I honestly don’t know what would have happened if they weren’t there.”

“So they came into your room -”

“They were already in my room. We’ve started sharing a bed.” Steve doesn’t feel bad for interrupting her.

“And how does that make you feel?” Steve hates that question.

“I love them. I’m glad they feel safe enough around me to let me stay in the same bed as them. I’m terrified that one of my nightmares will make me hurt them.” Steve says, brows furrowing.

“Agents Barton and Romanoff are highly trained, extremely skilled agents, Steve,” Dr. Jones says, “They are well able to defend themselves should you lash out unwittingly.”

“I know that,” Steve says, “I’m still scared.”

“Most veterans experience some form of anxiety about sharing their bed with other people when they come back, afraid of the same thing.” Dr. Jones smiles at him. “It’s not abnormal.” Steve slouches in the chair. “Can you tell me about Bucky?”

The question doesn’t really surprise him. He’s avoided speaking about Bucky to pretty much everyone since he woke up. It’s still raw. “Bucky was my best friend. He was my first everything. First kiss, first fuck, first love.” Steve says bluntly. “When he died… That very night, I contemplated following him. I was close, too, had the gun in my hand. And then…” Steve smiles at the memory. “Then Peggy walked into my tent and saw what I was holding. She looked at me like I was a moron and said ‘Put that nonsense away. Sergeant Barnes would be disappointed in you, Steve,’ and I just started crying. We cried together for the whole night and when she left my tent in the morning, there were whispers, but we figured it couldn’t hurt to let the troops think Captain America was seeing Peggy Carter. Better than the queer rumours, anyhow. And then two days later, we attacked Schmidt’s base in the mountains.” Steve shrugs and twiddles his thumbs. “You know how that ended.”

“You were damn lucky to have Peggy Carter in your life, Steve,” Dr. Jones says emphatically.

Steve grins. “Yeah. I was, wasn’t I?”

Dr. Jones smiles at him. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss today, or was that all?” Steve shakes his head. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your life outside of Clint and Natasha and SHIELD. How is school going?”

Steve grins and launches into a story about Jake and Miles racing to see who could climb a tree fastest. (They both lost to Jessie.) As he talks, he feels himself relaxing, until the nightmare from the night before has faded to an unpleasant memory.

~~~~~~

Steve’s hand hurts. Both of them do, in fact. That shouldn’t really be possible, but Steve doesn’t mind. He’s pretty sure that Clint has fractured at least one bone in his right hand, and Natasha’s done the same in his left. It’s fine, though. Today isn’t about him.

Clint stands stoically to his right, dry-eyed and blank-faced. Steve would be fooled, except that he saw Clint break down sobbing this morning when they found Coulson’s coffee mug in the dishwasher.

Natasha stands to his left, also dry-eyed but not quite as blank-faced. There’s something to be seen in the lines of her face, but Steve can’t quite figure out what it is. She didn’t cry at the mug, but Steve thinks she wanted to.

The pain in his hand graduates from a dull ache to a sharp flare, and Steve realizes that Clint’s grip has tightened. Steve squeezes back, not nearly as hard, and pulls them both closer to him slightly, letting the warmth of his arms do the talking for him.

“If there’s anything anyone would like to say, now’s the time,” the funeral director says, stepping away from the podium. Steve breathes in through his nose and steps up, releasing his loves’ hands.

“I didn’t know Phil Coulson for very long,” he starts, looking down at the podium. “I had only known him for a few minutes, and the man changed my life. I have a feeling he did that on the regular.” Looking up, Steve meets Clint’s eyes, then Natasha’s. “If it weren’t for Phil Coulson, two of the most important people in my life wouldn’t be in my life at all, and I will be forever grateful to him for that. The world lost a hero when Phil died. I know I did.” He steps down from the podium and walks back towards where he last saw Clint and Natasha. Only Natasha meets him there.

“He wasn’t expecting that,” she murmurs, entwining their fingers.

“Neither was I,” Steve says truthfully. She leads him away from the funeral and onto a beaten dirt path that winds through the cemetery. They round a corner, and there’s Clint. Shoulders shaking silently as he slumps against an old stone wall. Steve walks up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

Clint tenses up for a split second and then turns and falls into Steve’s arms. “He’s gone, Steve,” Clint sobs, breaking Steve’s heart. “He’s gone,” Clint says again, crying into Steve’s chest.

Steve doesn’t say anything. He simply rubs Clint’s back soothingly, holding a hand out to Natasha as well. When she takes it, he pulls her towards them and puts her in between his arm and Clint’s shaking body. Her arms snake around the two of them, and they stand there in the cold, mourning together.

~~~~~~

Campus is destroyed. There’s rubble everywhere, and Steve sees a few Stark Industries machines helping to move the destroyed stone. There are cordoned off sections all over campus, including the cafe. Steve stands aimlessly off to the side, not quite sure what to do with himself until he hears someone calling his name. “Steve! Hey, over here!” He looks up and sees Alex waving him over, their bright purple hair a beacon leading him over to the group of his friends. He jogs over and is immediately swamped with hugs. He hugs them all back tightly, relieved to see that they’re all okay.

“I’m so glad you guys are alright,” Steve says, sitting down on the grass. The five of them sit in a circle around him. “I was worried after New York but I’ve been so busy, I haven’t been able to check in. You are all okay, right?”

“What the fuck was up with those cryptic as shit text messages?!” Darcy bursts out. The others nod. “You can’t just tell us to go hide in a bunker and not give us a reason and then we find out that aliens have invaded New York! How the fuck did you even know about that?”

Steve winces. “I’ll tell you, I promise. But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone else ever.” They all swear and Steve braces himself. “First of all, my name isn’t Steve Robertson. It’s Steve Rogers. I was born in 1918, fought in World War Two as Captain America, was frozen in the Arctic for 66 years, and woke up in 2011 to fight some aliens and go to school.”

Nobody speaks for a good minute, and then Jake says, “What the fuck?!”

~~~~~~

“And now, here I am. Just a boy, telling two girls, another boy, and two people who don’t subscribe to the societal nonsense that are gender binaries -”

“Shut the fuck up, Steve,” Miles says, punching him on the shoulder. “Obviously, we’re cool with it. Yeah, I’m a little miffed you made us think your last name was Robertson - I mean, c’mon, what kind of shitty last name is that - and yeah, some warning about the fucking alien invasion would’ve been nice.” Steve grimaces. “But you’re still the same person. Just older, wiser, and awesomer.”

“Just because you’re a superhero sometimes,” Jessie says softly, “Doesn’t mean you’re not our friend all the time.”

“I’m in love with a national treasure,” Jake says flatly, falling onto his back and staring at the sky. “Fuck, what is my life.”

Steve snorts. “Welcome to my world, pal.”

Alex points at him. “I want a picture with the shield.”

“Done.”

“I want to meet Tony Stark.”

“Done. But he’s an asshole.”

“So am I,” Alex says simply, and Steve knows he’s forgiven. He looks hesitantly at Darcy, who has remained quiet throughout his story.

“Darcy?” He asks hesitantly. Darcy launches herself at him and Steve lets himself be bowled over by her weight.

“Thank you!” She cries into his shoulder, half-sobbing.

“You’re welcome?”

“My Opa was imprisoned at Azzano,” Darcy says. “I was raised on stories of Captain America and his adventures, and I always wanted to thank him - you - for saving my Bubba. So thank you, Steve.” She hugs him tightly and climbs off of him, leaving the circle sitting in stunned silence.

“So…” Jake says awkwardly, patting Steve’s shoulder, “You think there’s any chance you can use that ol’ American charm to get us out of exams?”

Steve stares at him in horror. “They’re still doing exams?!”

~~~~~~

“Fuck.”

“Shit.”

“Goddammit.”

“Steve, what the fuck are you muttering about?” Clint says, popping his head up over the couch. Steve looks at him blankly.

“I was muttering? I thought that was in my head.” He throws another piece of paper over his shoulder, missing the recycling bin.

“Yeah, you were muttering. Cursing like a trucker, too. Everything alright?” Clint walks over to Steve and rubs his shoulders gently.

Steve sways backwards into him, eyes closed. “I’ve got final exams in a week and I have to study.”

Clint walks around him and sits on Steve’s lap, cradling his face. “Steve,” he says seriously, “Didn’t the serum give you an eidetic memory?”

Steve’s eyes snap open and he stares at Clint blankly. Then, “What the _fuck_ , Clint? You couldn’t have said that _before I wasted all this goddamn paper_?”

Clint snickers and jumps off of Steve, taking cover behind the couch as Steve pelts him with all the crumpled paper balls. “We’re under attack!” He yells, returning fire. “Take no prisoners!”

Steve doesn’t hear Natasha come in - he never does, he secretly thinks she can teleport and just hasn’t told anyone - but when he turns to grab more paper, she’s standing at the front door toeing off her boots. He waves and then curses as Clint nails him with a paper ball right in the eye. “Goddammit Clint, that was my eye, you bastard!”

Natasha puts the groceries away quietly, avoiding every paper ball thrown in her direction - accidentally, of course. She leans against the oven, waiting for the kettle to boil and watches them. And if Steve puts a little extra twist in his hips as he vaults over the kitchen table, well - that’s no one’s business but his.

They’ve been play-fighting for approximately 20 minutes when Clint smacks Natasha in the ear with a paper ball. Him and Steve both freeze as Natasha looks up slowly. Her eyes meet Clint’s and he gulps, before sacrificing Steve to her wrath and booking it into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Steve snickers. And promptly trips over his discarded math textbook and lands at Natasha’s feet. He looks up at her, on his knees, and grins happily at her. “Love you,” he says softly. She leans down and kisses him gently.

“How come he gets a kiss and I’m locked in the bedroom?” Clint calls, muffled, through the bedroom door.

“You’re the one who went into the bedroom, Clint,” Natasha says, not breaking eye contact with Steve. A muffled curse hits Steve’s ears, and the bedroom door opens, Clint walking out cool as a cucumber. He stops dead when he sees the position Steve is in.

“What’s happening here?” He makes his way over and presents his face to Natasha for a kiss, grinning when she obliges him.

“Just admiring my favourite person in the world,” Steve says softly, tracing the planes of Natasha’s face.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Clint squawks.

“Yes,” Both Steve and Natasha say, grinning at each other. Steve laughs at Clint’s shout of outrage, pulling him into a hug when he tries to walk away.

“But you’re _our_ chopped liver,” Natasha says.

“And that’s what important,” Steve kisses the tip of Clint’s nose.

“I mean, I _guess_ that’s okay,” Clint grumbles. But Steve can see the blush rising on his cheeks. Steve loves it when Clint blushes.

~~~~~~

**ain’t no party like a genderqueer party**

**Disaster Bi:** _fuckers_

 **Disaster Bi:** _guess who got an eidetic memory from the serum_

 **In Love With Steve:** _is it too late to put him back_

 **Rat:** _i second that motion_

 **Taste the Rainbow:** _all in favour say aye_

 **Rat:** _aye_

 **In Love With Steve:** _aye_

 **Taste the Rainbow:** _aye_

 **Barney:** _aye_

 **Majestic Lion:** _cmon guys dont be mean_

 **Disaster Bi:** _thanks jessie i knew someone loved me_

 **Rat:** _stop trying to steal my girl rogers get your own_

 **Disaster Bi:** _jessie doesnt belong to you miles shes her own person and you can fuck right off with your ownership bullshit_

 **Disaster Bi:** _did i do that right_

 **Majestic Lion:** _changed my mind lets put him back_

~~~~~~

It’s not like Steve was trying to keep Natasha and Clint away from his friends. He wasn’t, really. He just… hadn’t had the chance to introduce them yet. He was planning on it, honest.

“They’ll love him, Steve,” Natasha says softly, “They loved me, didn’t they?”

Steve grins. “Of course they’ll love him, just like they love you. It’s not that I’m worried about.” Natasha raises an eyebrow. Steve sighs. “I don’t know, Natasha. Feelings are weird.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “You’re being an idiot, Steve.” With that loving statement, she gets up. “It’s my turn, Clint, go sit down.”

The three of them are on a date - bowling again. Steve is not holding out hope for a better score. Clint flops down next to him, pouting. “Nat’s cheating.”

Steve smirks. “How do you cheat at bowling?”

Clint opens his mouth, then shuts it. “I don’t know,” he grumbles, “But she’s doing it.” Steve chuckles and ruffles his hair, wrapping his arm around Clint and pulling him close. Clint gets fidgety after a while, looking over his shoulder a few times and twitching.

“Everything alright?” Steve asks cautiously. Clint’s in flight mode, and that makes Steve tense, which makes Natasha tense…

“Your twelve o’clock,” Clint mutters, “We’ve got eyes.” Steve stands up for his turn, grabbing his ball and striking a pose for Natasha and Clint, sneaking a peek at these supposed ‘eyes’. He rolls his eyes and throws the bowling ball down the lane, unsurprised when he gets only two pins.

Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouts, “Hey morons!” Clint jerks upright, staring. “We can see you, ya know! You’re not fooling anybody!” Snickering, Steve walks back towards Clint and kneels in front of him. “I want you to prepare yourself.”

“For what?”

“The hurricane that is my friends,” Steve says solemnly. “Ow, Darce, what the hell!”

“Ex _cuse_ you, Steven Grant, I am a _typhoon_ , not some crappy hurricane.” Darcy shakes her hand out. “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a hard head?” She says, making Jake snicker.

Steve shrugs. “Coupl’a aliens mighta said something. If they could still speak, that is.”

“You still haven’t gotten me my alien souvenir, Steve,” Miles scolds, walking over with their arm around Jessie.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Honestly Miles, all that stuffs classified anyway. And probably toxic.” Clint’s eyes swing back and forth wildly, but he looks less scared, more confused.

“Who are these people again?” He interrupts.

“Steve!” Jake cries, “You don’t talk about me?”

“Why would he talk about you when he’s got this tall drink of water waiting for him at home?” Alex drawls, sidling up to Clint and winking. “‘Sup handsome. I’m Alex.”

“Clint.”

“Alright, alright, leave him alone,” Steve pushes his way through his friends and grabs Clint’s hand, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. “Clint, these are my friends from school. I was going to come up with a way to introduce you to them quietly, but as usual, they plotted against me.”

“It’s okay, it’s just… unexpected.” Clint squeezes Steve’s hand. “Introduce me, Steven, didn’t your ma teach you any manners?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Alright, you putz. Alex, you’ve met already, they’re relatively harmless unless you insult their taste in nerdy shirts -”

“Don’t do it, Clint,” Miles stage-whispers, “Bad idea.”

“The lovely lady to your right would be Jessie - unfortunately, she’s been suckered into dating Miles. She’s much too good for them, but won’t listen to us when we tell her that.”

“They grow on you, what can I say?” Jessie sighs theatrically, patting Miles’ chest.

“Yeah, like a fungus,” Jake snorts. “Ow!” Miles punches him and the two of them start to grapple.

“The idiot who just started a fight with someone who’s bigger than he is - pull his hair, Miles, he hates that! - is Jake, our resident flirt. He’ll sleep with anything that moves, so… stay close to me. Not that that’ll stop him, but it might make him think twice.”

“Oh, fuck off Steve! You couldn’t handle me!” Jake yells, trapped in a headlock by Miles.

“And our final contestant is Darcy, resident political science major and typhoon.”

“I’m the only normal one,” Darcy says sagely, shaking Clint’s hand.

“I resent that!” Jake yells, now on the ground with Miles sitting on top of him.

“Y’all hear something?” Alex says, eyes wide with fake concern.

“Not a word,” Natasha says, curling up next to Steve. Steve grins and relaxes into the bench, booing when Jake frees himself from under Miles and steals Clint’s turn.

“Y’all mind if we steal your game?” Jessie asks, snapping her fingers at Miles when they pick up a bowling ball. Miles puts it back down sheepishly.

“Go ahead,” Clint says, tucking himself into Steve’s warmth. “I’m good here.”

Darcy points a finger at the three of them. “That’s fucking adorable, right there. Don’t move.” She snaps a picture of the three of them on her phone and sends it to Steve. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but to grab it, he would have to remove his arms from either Clint or Natasha’s shoulder, and… Well, he doesn’t want to do that. So his phone stays in his pocket.

“Holy shit, whose score is that?!” Jake cries upon seeing the scoreboard.

“Steve’s,” Natasha and Clint say simultaneously.

Steve pouts. “Bowling is harder than it looks, okay?” His friends jeer at him and Steve scowls, but on the inside, he’s warm. He moves his gaze from Miles and Jake arguing about who touched the bowling ball first (it was Miles, Jake is being a baby) to Natasha beside him, grinning at their antics. He drinks her in, smiling softly and shaking his head when she quirks an eyebrow at him. “I’m just happy right now, s’all,” Steve says. She kisses him gently on the lips and curls further into his warmth.

He switches his gaze to Clint. Clint takes longer to notice his stare, but when he does notice, he looks at Steve and sticks his tongue out. Steve snorts. “Loser,” he says.

Clint nods. “But I’m _your_ loser, right?”

Steve smiles at him and kisses the tip of his nose, chuckling when Clint scrunches it up. “Yes, Clint. _My_ loser.” Clint turns his attention back to Miles and Jake - who have now involved a long-suffering Jessie into their argument - but Steve can’t stop looking at the two people in his arms.

Steve knows he’s lucky. He woke up from something that should’ve killed him - which in itself is impressive - managed to find friends who love him for who he is (even if it took him a while to tell them), and he’s even found a relationship that makes him happy. Almost as happy as he was with Bucky.

No one can ever replace Bucky, Steve knows that. And he wouldn’t want anyone to try. But what he has with Clint and Natasha… Well, he thinks Bucky would be happy for him. For them, even.

And while that means a lot to Steve, he knows that Clint and Natasha’s happiness has come to mean just as much to him. And his to them, and really.

That’s all anyone can ask for in a relationship, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit guys. It's over. I am really proud of me for writing this whole fic and actually posting it. This is my first completed multi-chapter fic! Guys! I did a thing!
> 
> Thanks to Tomorraw - you're the best, girl. Love ya.  
> Thanks to Bad Decisions Bingo Discord - you guys are seriously the bomb. Cheering me on and indulging my neediness. I would say this is your fault, but I'm taking credit for this one. Love you guys.
> 
> You haven't seen the last of me. Keep your eyes peeled.

**Author's Note:**

> Well? What did you think? Let me know!
> 
> I plan on updating this every three days until it's done, so look forward to Chapter Two on April 7!


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